


Nearly Everything Shines

by maevewren



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Autumn, Camping, Cozy fall feels, Fluff and Angst, Grumpy Derek, Laura Hale Lives, M/M, Nature, Reckless Stiles Stilinski, Rock Climbing, Talia Hale Lives, national parks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-11-26 11:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20929196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevewren/pseuds/maevewren
Summary: Derek is a grumpy Park Ranger, Stiles is a daredevil rock climber. Each of them wants to escape his past, but maybe together they can find a future. Expect lots of cozy autumn feels, snark, major angst, and passion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darlings!
> 
> I watched "Free Solo" a while ago and thought...there's something Sterek there. Even though this story is not at all the story in Free Solo (which you should totally watch if you haven't). I just got inspired by the idea of someone risking everything for a possibly impossible goal, and the people who love him watching that perilous journey. And that gave birth to this story of love in a National Park. I made up my own park so that I wouldn't have to know everything about a real park, but this place is very Yosemite-esque, I can say.
> 
> Your kudos and comments feed my soul. 
> 
> Story title comes from a John Muir quote.

Derek Hale crunches through the dead leaves piling up around his little porch; he’ll need to clear those out soon. It seems early in the season to be dealing with falling leaves already, but he thinks that every fall. It just sneaks up on him, that shift from summer’s long bright nights and sweltering days, the busiest season for the park. He’s basically just caught his breath by the time he realizes fall is well underway. And it happens every year.

The ranger dwellings at Bear Valley National Park do not impress Derek’s family members when they come to visit, but he likes his tiny cabin under the shadow of a huge granite peak just fine. Plenty of the park’s rangers elect to live outside the park and make the hour-plus drive each way, especially treacherous in winter. Derek figures they have families, interests outside the park. That’s nice for them, but not where he is right now. If he’ll ever be.

Before he can open the door, his telephone starts to ring inside. A land line, of course; cell phones don’t work in most parts of the park, including this part of the valley. He does have access to wireless internet, unfortunately, giving him little excuse when his sisters demand his presence on social media. (So far he’s gotten away with creating a Facebook account, posting two outdated photos, and clicking “like” on a handful of random posts every other Sunday. He has 14 friends.)

Only three people call Derek: his mother, his big sister Laura, and his little sister Cora. Anyone else who wants to reach him sends an email and knows not to expect a response for at least two weeks. His best friend from college, Boyd, doesn’t even bother with that. He just visits Derek directly, twice a year, and they get their fill of each other by hiking and snowshoeing and drinking whiskey from flasks by the campfire. Boyd probably communicates with his other friends in more conventional ways, but Derek doesn’t know or care. People think he’s a bizarre loner, and probably he deserves the title. That’s fine with him.

He grabs the phone just in time to hear Laura’s voice on the other end.

“Der Bear!” she cries.

“Hello, Laura.”

“You never called me this week!”

“I never call you, Laura. Ever.”

“And is that an acceptable way to treat your sister?”

Derek shrugs, then remembers she can’t see him. “What’s up, sister?”

“Jordan proposed.” Derek hears squealing in the background.

Derek likes Jordan, the baby-faced sheriff’s deputy his sister has been dating for years. All the Hales like him. He’s good to Laura and respects her fierce dominance in every situation, including their relationship. Derek doesn’t envy him.

“Hey, Laura, that’s great.” He means it. He knows she’s been waiting for this for a while.

“I know it just happened, like, today, but we already decided to get married this summer. June. I’m giving you a ton of advance warning because your presence is mandatory. You hear that?”

Derek laughs. “Laura, Jesus. I may be a workaholic but I wouldn’t miss your wedding. Where do you think you’ll have it?” He doesn’t let himself imagine the event, hordes of people he doesn’t know or wants to avoid approaching him, drunk and jolly. He won’t think about it until he has to, maybe the week before.

“Probably here at the house,” she says. Laura lives with their mom in the epic mansion his parents bought in Beacon Hills in Northern California in the 1980s. When he lets himself, Derek feels guilty about Laura doing that, taking care of their mom while he does whatever he wants in the wilderness. Mostly he doesn’t think about it, though.

The evening chill seeps into the cabin quickly as his family chatters on. Nestling the phone receiver into the crook of his neck, Derek gets a fire started in the stove that serves as his sole heat source. It works remarkably well, but waiting for it to get going can be painful in the dead of winter when it’s fifteen degrees outside. 

Watching the kindling catch and spark, Derek asks Laura about the proposal, which she describes happily. Cora tosses in snide remarks from the background and Derek hears his mom shushing her good-naturedly. He can imagine the lively atmosphere in the house and wishes, for a brief second, that he could be there with them. It passes.

“How are things up there?” Laura asks, even though she knows what he’ll say.

“Fine.”

“Doing anything interesting in your down time these days?” He knows she means doing any_one_ interesting. 

“I read a lot. And I hike a lot. You know that.” He pokes at the fire, now fully blazing.

“Derek.” She sighs. “You can’t punish yourself forever. You’re 28 years old. You deserve to have a life, to have people in your life. To fall in love.”

Derek chuckles darkly. “You do know you tell me this every single time we talk? And have done so for the last five years? I’m _fine_, Laura. Please.”

“Don’t you at least need to have sex once in a while?”

The women in Derek’s family - who happen to constitute Derek’s _entire_ family - have no boundaries. He doesn’t even bother getting upset any more.

“Can I talk to Mom? And congrats again. Jordan’s a lucky man.”

She groans with fond exasperation and disappears. His mom’s voice appears with “Sweetheart?”

The sound of her voice is like a warm squeeze around his chest. He misses her.

“Hey, Mom.”

“How you doing, baby?”

“Good. Starting to get cold here. Leaves everywhere. Totally snuck up on me.”

She laughs. “Doesn’t it every year?”

“It does.” He smiles. “Think you’ll come visit this winter?”

“I think that can be arranged. I don’t suppose you’ll make it to Laura’s engagement party next month? They haven’t picked a date yet, but I know how things get for you.”

“Yeah.” He runs his fingers through his hair and settles back against the edge of his small sofa. “It probably won’t be feasible. But I won’t rule it out.” He’s lying, and she knows that, but it’s part of the dance they do.

“Okay, my gorgeous. I’m gonna go because Jordan’s meeting us for dinner downtown. Wish you were here. Love you.”

After they hang up, he wraps himself in a wool blanket hanging over the edge of the sofa and watches the fire. He hates himself for how little he minds his isolation. When he started this job and moved here, he thought he was atoning for his sins, but now he likes his quiet life. He can’t hurt anyone here, not really. 

Derek’s stomach rumbles and he remembers why he came home in the first place. He heads into his little kitchen, as rudimentary as everything else in this 1930s structure. But the tiny gas range and oven, mini fridge and sink get the job done; what else would he need?

He opens a can of beef stew and heats it on the range along with a bag of frozen carrots, cracking open a bottle of beer as he does. He can’t get fresh food easily here in the park and rarely bothers to drive all the way to the nearest town with a grocery store, Lacey. Sometimes his friend Isaac, another ranger, drags him along so he’ll have company for the drive, but not often. Derek wonders what kind of company he makes, anyway, given how quiet he is. Isaac doesn’t seem to mind.

The stew bubbles and he mixes in the carrots, grabbing a slice of bread from the bag on the counter. His mom teases him for eating like he’s camping every day, but she doesn’t know the half of it. Some nights he just eats jerky, sitting on his front steps staring at the clear black sky. Other nights he abandons the cabin completely and treks deep into the park, into areas restricted to visitors, and pitches his one-man tent. He likes to get as close as he can to a creek so he can fall asleep to the sound of the water rushing past. He barely dreams, those nights.

Earlier today, while Derek and Isaac searched the Alpine Meadow Trail for a lost hiker (whom they found eventually, crying and inexplicably pantsless), Isaac said he might drop by to visit Derek tonight. Derek likes Isaac, but he doesn’t want any visitors tonight. Or any night, truthfully. But he knows that normal people like to socialize, especially people living so far from civilization, and he wants their interactions on the job to stay comfortable, so he tries. He really tries, but he knows his tight-lipped smiles and tense body language give him away. Isaac doesn’t hold it against him, even though Derek thinks he should. He doesn’t understand why anyone puts up with his bullshit, honestly.

Once he finishes eating and the sun sets, Derek switches off all the lights in the cabin. If Isaac does decide to visit, he won’t call first, just amble over from his own quarters in the Rangers’ Station, and a dark cabin will probably make him turn around and head back home. Derek feels a little remorseful, sitting there in the dark, reading one of his science fiction paperbacks by candlelight, but he also doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know how else to be.

*****

Extremely loud whooping and laughter wake Derek up around four in the morning. He never hears people at this time: the park doesn’t open for several more hours and his is the only residence for miles. Only another ranger should be allowed within shouting distance of his cabin right now, but he doesn’t recognize the extremely enthusiastic voice piercing right through his walls like they aren’t even there.

“What in fucking hell,” he growls, yanking on a flannel shirt and stuffing his sweatpant-clad legs into the boots by his door. He has the authority to arrest anyone breaking park regulations and he plans to do so.

“Who’s there?” he shouts into the darkness, stomping down the three steps from his front door to the ground.

“Oh shit!” comes from about fifty feet away, followed by a fit of giggles and whispering.

“This is Ranger Hale speaking” - he still can’t see anyone - “and the park is currently closed.” He flicks on a heavy-duty flashlight and points it at two men who raise their arms over their eyes to avoid the glare.

“Woah, woah, hey,” says the one whose voice he realizes he heard before. “It’s okay, we have a special permit, I can show you.” The two bodies move closer, dropping piles of stuff on the ground first.

Derek hoists the flashlight to cast light down on the men when they get close enough. They look young, mid-20s. The shorter one wears a sheepish smile and sports messy black hair and a crooked jawline. The other guy is Derek’s height, but lithe instead of bulky. He has huge eyes with long eyelashes, like the kind they draw on animals in cartoons to tell you which ones are female. 

“I swear we’re allowed to be here, man,” he says, hurriedly unfolding a few pieces of paper and thrusting them at Derek.

Derek frowns at the man, who’s grinning hopefully.

_United States Department of the Interior_  
_National Park Service_  
_Bear Valley National Park_  
_Special Use Permit_  
_Type of Use: Commercial Filming_

The permit indicates they can film here in Wolf’s Peak, from dawn to dusk, for the next few weeks.

“It isn’t dawn,” Derek says. He doesn’t know what else to say and feels disinclined to admit he was in the wrong.

“Look,” says the guy. “Ranger Hale? I’m Stiles Stilinski, this is Scott McCall.” He gestures to the other guy, who beams at Derek like they’re all about to go ice skating and hold hands.

“That’s nice. It’s still not dawn.”

“Well, see, we haven’t started filming. Which is technically what can’t start until dawn. It doesn’t say we can’t be here. And we need to be rolling right at dawn, so we kind of have to set up beforehand and make some key decisions.”

“Set up where?”

“Oh, on Wolf’s Peak.”

“Yes, I got that, but where in Wolf’s Peak?” The Wolf’s Peak area of the park measures about five square miles, most of it off limits to the public.

Stiles laughs. “No man, I don’t mean IN Wolf’s Peak, I mean ON Wolf’s Peak. Itself.”

Derek waits. This guy has to be kidding.

“Wolf’s Peak is 3,500 feet high and is basically a flat sheet of granite the whole way. How can you possibly film on it?”

“Ye of little faith!” Stiles says joyfully. “I’m a climber, man. Kind of a famous one, actually.” Derek swears the guy winks at him, but it’s hard to tell in the dark.

“So famous you have a crew of one?” Derek has no idea why he feels the need to antagonize this kid; he just does. It excites him, for some weird reason he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

Stiles rolls his eyes; Derek can definitely see that. “Our crew is about 15, actually. But Scott’s the lead camera guy and we got here early to scope a few things out before the rest arrive. They’re not far behind us, though.”

“So can we go now?” Scott asks, his tone friendly.

Derek could probably refuse them, tell them that nowhere does the permit say they can hang around before dawn, but what’s the point? He doesn’t want to throw his weight around just to feel tough. And Stiles’ eyes, which remain fixed on him, glowing bright amber in the light of his flashlight, keep throwing him off.

“Fine. But keep it down. People are trying to sleep out here.”

Stiles looks to the left and right with curiosity, then back at Derek.

“Okay, Ranger,” he says. He grins broadly at Derek and Scott mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “not again.” But Derek doesn’t care, he absolutely does not want to know more about this Stiles character and he plans to steer well clear of them while they’re filming.

He convinces himself he’s not interested. Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles and his film crew take over Wolf’s Peak completely, or at least that’s how it feels to Derek. He can’t walk out his front door without catching a glimpse of some bozo with a camera or a flash of Stiles’ bright red windbreaker against granite. So far Derek hasn’t seen him get very high at all and he seriously doubts this kid is much more than an attention-seeking internet personality. Not that he knows much about those, but he imagines them to be loud, obnoxious and phony. Just like Stiles.

Isaac disagrees with Derek’s low opinion of Stiles. He and Derek are doing a thorough check of the bear-proof storage lockers at the Pine Lakes campsite. If campers don’t lock up all their food or scented toiletries in these things, they’re liable to wake up to a smashed-in car or a bear tugging on their tent. (Once, a camper left an empty tube of cherry Chapstick in the glove compartment of her van and a black bear tore the whole car apart.) 

“I think it’s awesome, man,” Isaac says as he tugs on the handles of one of the steel containers. Satisfied it’s not budging, he walks to the next one. “Stiles Stilinski is a fucking badass.”

Derek scoffs, marking the chart on his clipboard every time Isaac okays a locker. 

“I think you mean _jack_ass,” he retorts. He zips up his thick ranger jacket; it’s getting colder every day. Soon they’ll need gloves and hats to be outside for more than a few minutes. He tries to imagine gripping a rock surface with frozen hands and then shakes the idea out of his head. Why does he care?

“Nah, man, he seems cool. Check out some of his Youtube videos some time. He’s into free soloing, it’s pretty amazing.”

“What exactly does that mean, anyway?” Derek knows his brows are scrunched up and he doesn’t even know why he feels so irritated.

Isaac sighs. “I cannot believe you live within shouting distance of the highest peak in California and don’t know what free soloing is.” He yanks another locker door. “It means rock climbing, but with nothing but your hands and feet. No ropes, no nets, nada.”

“That sounds incredibly stupid.”

“I mean, yeah, people die all the time.”

“What?” Derek looks up from his clipboard, shocked. “All the time?” 

“Yeah,” Isaac says, like it’s obvious. “Dude, they’re climbing mountains with their bare hands. Of course they die.”

“So why do it at all? What’s wrong with some fucking ropes?”

Isaac laughs and claps Derek’s shoulder as he passes him on his way to the next locker.

“I guess it’s all in the thrill, man.”

Derek shakes his head. He’ll never understand why people enjoy the feeling of danger, of doing something for no reason other than to feel victorious about not dying while doing it. Why not do something that you know for sure won’t end in death? What’s wrong with a nice old movie on the couch?

“Stilinski is still alive,” Derek says.

“Well, he’s young. Most of them die after they’ve been doing it a while longer. You know, it’s a numbers game. If you have, like, a 1 in 10 chance of dying with every climb, the more you climb, the more likely it is you’ll die.” Isaac’s utterly blase about the matter.

“Besides,” Isaac goes on as he stops and crouches down to tie his loose bootlace. “There’s an excellent chance he won’t remain alive if he really does try to solo climb Wolf’s Peak. No one has ever pulled that off. Actually, I don’t think anyone has even tried. Have you seen the grade on that thing? It may as well be a vertical wall.”

They approach the last set of lockers. “I just hope he doesn’t die while I’m on duty. The last thing I want to do is scrape up some daredevil idiot with a spatula,” Derek says.

Isaac shudders. “Speaking of which, our next job is to dispose of a dead coyote over in Sequoia Flat.”

“Lead the way,” Derek sighs.

*****

Scott McCall chases Derek down when he catches a glimpse of him later that afternoon. “Ranger Derek!” he shouts, running and waving his arms.

“Jesus Christ,” Derek mutters under his breath. The kid better not be asking to use his bathroom again. (The last time he asked, Derek didn’t even respond. He just stared at him until Scott walked away.)

He walks toward Scott and eventually they meet up. “What’s the problem, Scott?”

Scott stops running and smiles. “You remembered my name!”

Derek waits, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh shit, right. We need a medic.”

Derek abandons his bitchy train of thought and springs into action. “I’m a trained EMT, what’s the problem? Take me there.”

Scott nods, trying to catch his breath. He turns back toward Wolf’s Peak and walks, twisting his sleeve nervously. “It’s Stiles,” he says.

_Of course_, thinks Derek. “What happened?”

“Not sure, he slipped and something happened with his ankle. He can’t put any weight on it.”

Derek pulls out his radio and calls in for a stretcher to get Stiles to the park clinic. “We’ll handle it,” he tells Scott, trying to sound comforting, though he isn’t sure that comes across. He’s extremely out of practice with social niceties. There’s a reason he’s not one of the rangers who lead tours or teach school kids about owl pellets and the different types of conifers.

Scott nods. “I know. It’s just an injury, he’ll heal.” There’s a note of resignation in his voice, Derek notices.

“This time,” Derek says.

Scott looks at him with wide eyes. “Exactly,” he says.

“You two are close?”

Scott grins. “Since we were four. Best friends. Brothers, basically. I’m actually the one who got him into climbing, back in high school.”

“I haven’t seen you up there.” So far he’s caught a few glimpses of Stiles on the lowest parts of the peak, but never Scott.

He shakes his head. “Passing phase for me. But Stiles got really into it. He won the gold medal at the Bouldering Youth National Championship when we were 18.” He smiles proudly at the memory.

Derek grunts. “So, what, like last year?”

Scott laughs. “No way man, we’re 28! He just looks young.” 

_My age_, Derek thinks. _Huh_.

“Have you really never heard of him?” Scott asks. 

“Not much of a sports guy, I guess.” They’re almost at the little base camp the film crew set up when they first arrived. He can’t see Stiles yet; he appears to be surrounded by a huddle of people.

“Stiles!” Scott calls out. The huddle disperses and reveals Stiles, sitting on the ground, holding his right ankle and grimacing. His face lights up when he sees Derek.

“Ranger Hale!” he says with delight. “You finally came over to say hello!”

Derek rolls his eyes and crouches down by Stiles’ leg. “I’m an EMT, I came to look at your ankle. I have a stretcher on the way, okay? They’ll take you to the clinic where you can get checked out thoroughly.”

“Ugh, stretchers are not sexy. At all. Can’t you carry me?” He fixes his doe eyes on Derek and bats his lashes.

The fuck? Is this kid flirting with him? He did not see that coming, but according to Cora he never does. Derek knows he’s good looking (he modeled in college for pocket money), but he figures he puts out pretty strong KEEP OFF vibes. It’s been years since someone overtly hit on him.

Flustered with the surprise of it, Derek stammers as he gives Scott driving directions to the clinic so he can follow the emergency vehicle there. Scott gives him a long-suffering look and a sympathetic cringe, so this must be standard operating procedure for Stiles. He’s not sure if that makes him feel more or less rattled.

“How did you manage this?” Scott asks Stiles, who grimaces in pain. 

“It wasn’t deliberate, Scott,” he bites out, reaching down to massage the injury, but Derek stops him.

“Don’t touch it until we know what’s going on, you could make it worse.” Derek starts to remove Stiles’ climbing shoe, gingerly.

“Okay, Ranger,” he sighs, leaning back on his hands. “Scott, how long you think this is gonna put me out for?”

“Depends whether it’s a fracture or a sprain.”

Stiles groans in frustration as Derek checks the circulation, pressing hard on the dorsal arteries and then gradually releasing pressure. He can feel the pulse in both, so that’s good.

“I’m so mad I can’t even enjoy this right now,” Stiles says, watching Derek intently and waggling one eyebrow.

Ignoring him, Derek pokes a sharp pine needle into the bottom of Stiles’ foot. “Can you feel that?”

“Ow, yes.”

“How about this?” He brushes a soft leaf in the same spot. “And if you can feel that, does it feel the same or different as the last touch?”

“Different.”

“Okay. Good. Now, can you wiggle your toes?”

Stiles grins and wiggles his toes, craning them to brush against Derek’s nearby hand.

Derek rolls his eyes and stands up. “We can rule out anything serious, which is good. It’s most likely a sprain or a fracture, like Scott said.”

“Uh, dude, either of those is serious. I’m supposed to do my first full test-run climb of the Peak next week. That’s what I’ve been building up to the whole time we’ve been here.”

The stretcher arrives just then, with two of the park’s clinic staff. Stiles eyes the equipment with disgust.

“Is this really necessary?”

“Afraid so,” one of the guys holding the stretcher says. He exudes cheerfulness and Derek and Stiles give him dirty looks at the exact same time. Oblivious, or just not caring, he goes on. “I’m Aidan, by the way, and this is Danny.”

Derek knows them both and can’t stand either of them. Aidan cracks jokes nonstop, no matter what he’s doing, and Danny always gives Derek sex eyes. He’s doing it right now, actually. As usual, Derek pretends he has no idea it’s happening.

“Okay, gentlemen,” Stiles says. “Let’s get this over with.”

Aidan and Danny help Stiles onto the stretcher, then load him into the back of the van they use as a sort of ambulance. Scott waves goodbye to Derek as he jumps into his car to follow Stiles, and they’re gone.

The other members of the film crew start packing up their stuff; Derek assumes there won’t be any more filming going on anytime soon. Even if it’s just a sprain, Stiles is going to have to stay off his ankle for a few weeks, past the expiration of their permit. He almost feels sorry for the guy, for half a second, before remembering that peace and quiet will be returning to Wolf’s Peak in the evenings.

He can’t figure out why he’s not as excited about that as he should be.

*****

Isaac pounds on Derek’s door on a Friday evening a few days later, an evening for which Derek had (blissfully) nothing planned. He yanks open his door, expressionless.

“We’re going out!” Isaac informs him.

“No, we aren’t.” Derek turns and walks back inside, but leaves the door open. That’s the closest he ever gets to extending an invitation.

Isaac clambers in, taking off his ranger hat and spreading out on Derek’s sofa. It seems to Derek that Isaac fills the entire cabin, all by himself. He doesn’t like it. He makes a sound of irritation and then sits on the wooden chair across from Isaac.

“There’s gonna be live music at the Lube Room, and $2 drafts.” The Lube Room is the nearest bar, in Lacey. It still takes over an hour to get there, and the place always smells like they use skunked Miller Lite to wash the floors. If they even wash the floors.

“Is that so.”

“Yup. Erica emailed me this morning. She says she demands to see your ‘very pretty resting bitch face’ there by 8pm.”

Derek looks at his wall clock. It’s just after 6pm. Isaac doesn’t know that Derek is typically asleep by 9pm. Nor will he care, or accept any excuses. It’s not worth the battle.

“Fine,” Derek says. “But I’m driving.” He knows there’s more than a minimal risk that Isaac won’t be coming back to the park tonight and he doesn’t want to be stranded, or have to ask Erica, their ex-ranger friend who lives in Lacey, to drive him all the way back.

“Whatever you want, man,” Isaac says happily. “I can’t remember the last time we went out!”

Derek can. It was seven months ago and he swears his favorite flannel shirt still smells like the cigarettes people illegally smoke inside the Lube Room when it’s cold outside.

“Well, form a very vivid memory of tonight, then, because this is not going to happen again any time soon, or possibly ever.”

Isaac rolls his eyes and hops up to leave. “Sure, sure. Pick me up at 7?”

Derek glares him out of the cabin, nodding so slightly that it looks like an angry twitch.

*****

Isaac talks nonstop the entire drive, and every time Derek tries to drown him out by turning up his Creedence Clearwater Revival, Isaac just raises his voice, undeterred. He wants to fill Derek in on all the ranger gossip, even though Derek has told him a thousand times he doesn’t care.

The Lube Room Saloon sits about thirty feet back from the two-lane road that winds through the deep forest around the park. Neon beer signs gleam from the windows, the only hint the place is even there, thanks to the dark siding of the building itself. Isaac loves the place so much he could probably close his eyes the whole way there and then shout “here!” as they approach, just by feeling the place in his bones. Derek doesn’t get it. What’s wrong with drinking beer at home?

They park in the gravel lot between the bar and the road and Isaac practically runs inside. Derek walks slowly, deliberately, behind him.

“D-rock!” yells a curvy woman with heavy makeup and a few hundred dollars’ worth of blonde hair extensions once Isaac has the door wide open. “Get your sexy ass in here!”

Derek heaves a deep sigh as he comes inside, but gives the woman a smile and hugs her warmly. “Hi, Erica.” 

Erica kisses Derek’s cheek and then rubs her lipstick off him with a fist. “Been too long, handsome. What’ll you have? First round’s on me.”

Derek knows better than to fight Erica on that. “It’s $2 draft night, right? Just get me whichever of those you’re having.” He follows Isaac to one of the wagon-wheel tables in the center of the room, next to the jukebox. Isaac’s already making eyes and grinning at a pretty brunette at the end of the bar.

“You do work fast,” says Derek as he pulls off his jacket and drapes it over his stool before sitting.

“I have limited time in civilization, I have to use it efficiently.” He winks at the girl, who giggles to her friend.

“Good Christ,” mutters Derek. He’s very glad he drove tonight. 

“Here we go!” announces Erica, dropping three plastic cups filled to the brim with foamy pale beer on the table. They raise them up in a toast, then Erica and Isaac swallow down most of what’s in their cups. Derek sips. He’s not interested in driving through the mountains drunk, but mostly he can’t bear the thought of letting his guard down completely in a place like this. Where there are _people_ around.

Within five minutes Isaac is fetching the next round, for him and Erica anyway, and Derek is wondering how long he needs to stay before he can sneak out without catching too much flak from his friends. Erica sees him eyeing the clock behind the bar and narrows her eyes at him.

“Nuh uh, pretty boy. You just got here. I never get to see you, and you’re not going anywhere until I’ve had my fill.”

Any other woman talking to Derek this way would make him feel squirmy and uncomfortable, but Derek knows Erica doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s known her for a few years now and doesn’t even think she’s into guys that way. It’s just her way of showing affection, and although he wouldn’t tolerate it from anyone else, it’s somehow okay coming from her.

Derek wraps an arm around her shoulders and knocks their heads together gently. “Fine,” he says.

Erica humphs in triumph and then squeals when Isaac plunks their new drinks down. They tap cups and chug while Derek smirks at them, still delicately sipping his own drink. Even if he doesn’t like going out much, it’s nice to see his friends enjoying themselves.

A while later, and finally onto his second beer, Derek flips through the jukebox options. He prefers classic rock, ideally from the 60s to 80s, and fortunately this machine boasts plenty of options. He’s deciding between ACDC and Zeppelin when someone comes up from behind him and wraps their hands over his eyes.

“Erica, I already told you I’m not picking ‘Baby, One More Time’ again. Twice is enough.”

The owner of the hands bursts into joyous laughter; where does he know that laugh from? The fingers slip away and Derek turns.

He’s so thrown he doesn’t know how to react.

“You.” He can’t think of anything more coherent to say.

Stiles smiles with confidence. “It’s me, Ranger Hale.”

Derek feels a surge of something he can’t identify. Irritation? Anger? Fatigue? Or something a little more pleasant that he simply refuses to acknowledge?

Instead of figuring it out, he says, “Why are you here?” with extra gruffness.

Stiles’ smile doesn’t waver. “Same reason anybody else comes here. Get drunk? Maybe get laid?”

“Not why I come here.”

Stiles looks at the beer in Derek’s hand. “Which part?”

“Either of them.”

“I get it.” Stiles nods sagely. “You’ve got somebody pretty waiting for you in that cozy cabin of yours.”

Derek snorts; he can’t help it. That prompts an eyebrow raise from Stiles.

“Oh really?” he asks, a little more softly than before.

“Did you need the jukebox?” Derek punches the button for ACDC quickly. Stiles’ notices and smirks.

“You shook me all night long, huh?”

Derek feels himself blush and rolls his eyes with extra attitude. “It’s all yours,” he says, gesturing to the machine and moving to go back to his table.

Stiles’ eyes roam up and down Derek’s body. “Is that so?” He bites on his lower lip and Derek feels a bizarre twist in his gut as he imagines himself licking away the sting. No idea how to handle those feelings, Derek just frowns and stalks back to his table. He throws back the rest of his beer and then glares at the floor.

He looks up to find both Erica and Isaac watching him, amused.

“What,” he barks.

“Who’s _that_?” Erica purrs, eyes now on Stiles as he leans over the jukebox. 

“_That_ is Stiles Stilinski,” Isaac supplies eagerly. “The rock climber?”

Erica furrows her brow and shakes her head. “No idea. But he’s cute as fuck.”

Something tugs at Derek’s insides again at her comment; what the hell? To atone, he tells her, “He said he’s here to get laid, if you’re interested.”

Erica looks at him, incredulous. “D-rock, you really have been hibernating too long. You’re the one he wants to fuck.”

Derek spits out the mouthful of beer he’d stolen from Isaac’s cup to give him something to do with his hands. It arcs across the table and falls with a splash by Erica’s hand, who yelps in disgust. “Save your puddles for him, dude,” she yells.

Derek mops up the spill, embarrassed. “Shut up, Erica. Seriously.”

“I dunno,” Isaac says thoughtfully. “I could see it. He is bi, according to interviews.”

“How do you know that _I’m_ bi?” Derek says. “I’ve never said anything about my dating preferences or history, ever.”

“We know,” Erica and Isaac say in unison.

“Besides, you don’t have to be bi for him to want to fuck you,” Isaac says. “I guess you do if you want to fuck him. Do you?” He asks so innocently.

Desperate to come up with an effective response to shut down this line of conversation, Derek succeeds only in sputtering.

“Ahhhhh,” they both say, nodding at each other.

“Why are you two in stereo tonight? Why the fuck are we talking about this? I don’t date. Period. Maybe I haven’t told you that before, but I’m telling you now.”

Erica arches one perfectly-groomed eyebrow. “Who said anything about dating?”

“Forget it,” he spits out, hopping off his stool and heading to the bar. Tonight is even worse than he feared.

*****

Three hours later and customers are spilling out of the Lube Room’s back door into the open yard area where people smoke and play cornhole in the dark. Surprising himself, Derek hasn’t gone home yet, although he continues to pace himself on the alcohol so he can drive.

He can’t say the same for Stiles, who, even from across the yard, seems totally shitfaced. He’s with Scott and a few other members of their film crew and they’re treating this like the frat kegger to end all frat keggers. Derek watches him compete with two other guys to see who can drink a pint fastest until Erica snaps her fingers in his face.

“Derek, you’re drooling.” She looks delighted.

“Shut up,” he growls, turning so that he can’t even see Stiles anymore. “Where’s Isaac?” He apparently lost track of his friend while watching Stiles and his crew.

“Unlike you, not ignoring his bodily needs.” She points to the opposite corner of the yard, where Isaac is draped over the brunette from before. Their bodies shift just enough for Derek to catch a glimpse of tongue.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” he says. “Tell Isaac I said goodbye?”

Erica’s shoulders slump a little. “You’re gonna leave me here by myself?”

Derek hesitates; he doesn’t want to be a shitty friend, and it’s true that he rarely sees Erica. (They met during her one-year ranger stint - she quit when she discovered someone had filled a soap dispenser in a campsite bathroom with feces.)

As he’s wondering how to placate her and still escape, Stiles appears at their table. Erica’s glum expression instantly turns gleeful. “Hello, young man,” she says with a grin.

“Hello pretty lady! Derek, is this your girlfriend?” Stiles leans over their table, his elbow pressed into Derek’s, his breath reeking of alcohol. He’s so drunk. 

Derek looks pointedly at Stiles’ cup. “Think you’ve had enough for tonight?”

Stiles scoffs while simultaneously tripping on his left shoe. While standing. “I can’t climb,” he says, pointing to the walking boot on his right foot. “And there isn’t much to do around here. So drinking is all I have.” He burps.

Derek looks for the crowd Stiles came in with, but he can’t find them anymore. All he can see is Scott, who’s pulling an Isaac and focusing entirely on a girl. Actually, it’s the friend of Isaac’s girl that he noticed at the bar before. God, this tiny town is incestuous.

“What happened to your friends? How are you getting out of here?” Derek asks Stiles.

“It’s okay, I won’t drive like this. Scott’s gonna take me back to my van.” Stiles drinks the last of his beer and then frowns at the empty cup.

“Your van?” Didn’t Stiles just say he wasn’t going to drive?

“Yeah, my van, my house, whatever.”

“Um.” Erica and Derek exchange puzzled looks. Stiles notices and heaves an enormous beleaguered sigh.

“I live in my van. My van is my home. Got it?”

“That’s bleak, man,” Erica says.

“Nah, my van is rad. Totally converted, it’s basically like a high-end RV, only smaller. And it allows me to live wherever I want, whenever I want.”

“Which means near whatever peak you’re climbing at the moment,” Derek puts together.

“Bingo!” Stiles’ cheeks flush and he looks delighted with Derek’s deduction. “So right now it’s parked near the south entrance of the park. They wouldn’t let me park it in Wolf’s Peak,” he says, with a meaningful glance at Derek.

“And you say Scott’s taking you back there tonight?” He looks pointedly at Scott, who’s just as compromised as Isaac, and Stiles follows his gaze.

“Aw shit,” he says softly. “He hasn’t gotten any in so long. I can’t cock-block him.” For a moment he looks lost and worried, something Derek has never seen on him before.

“Well, that’s okay,” Erica says in a tone of voice Derek has come to fear. “Derek’s headed back to the park soon and he can drive you.” She smiles sweetly when Derek fixes wide, panicked eyes on her.

“Really?” Stiles turns to Derek with those giant amber eyes and those fucking endless eyelashes.

“Fine. But throw up in my car and I’ll give you two bad ankles.”

Both Erica and Stiles snicker at that like they adore him for it, which confuses him. Does he intimidate no one?

“Don’t worry, Ranger,” Stiles says. “I keep down everything I swallow.”

*****

Surprisingly enough, Stiles make a mellower traveling companion than Isaac. He spends most of the drive looking out the window or humming along with Derek’s music. That should annoy him and doesn’t, which itself annoys him. He’s so confused whenever Stiles is around.

“Why’d you become a ranger?” Stiles asks, still watching the dark trees flash past.

Derek knows that seems like a safe, polite topic of conversation to any normal person. But he’s not normal, and only a few people know why he’s really sequestered himself in the woods. 

“Just seemed interesting, and I majored in Environmental Science,” he replies, the same answer he always gives.

Most people accept that without question and move on to the next topic, but Stiles pauses. He turns and looks at Derek, watching his profile carefully for a long minute while Derek drives.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” He turns his gaze back to the window.

“Why’d you become a rock climber?” Derek asks.

Stiles waits, then says, “Just seemed interesting, I guess.” His tone is flat.

Stiles falls asleep a little while after that, and they drive the rest of the way in a quiet that feels peaceful. Derek lets Stiles sleep as long as he can, then shakes him awake when they’re nearing the park.

“Where’s your van?”

Stiles groans and stretches, apologizing for falling asleep. “I can’t believe I had Ranger Hale all to myself and fell asleep on the job.” He sighs. Derek ignores him.

“Turn just up here, to the right. It’s about a mile down the road in a parking area.”

The van looks like nothing much to Derek, but Stiles insists that he come check it out. Derek refuses, thinking Stiles is trying to lure him inside. Stiles reads his mind and says, “I swear I’m not going to try and seduce you. I won’t be this drunk when I try to seduce you.”

Derek rolls his eyes and tries to shut down the weird warm feeling Stiles’ comment gives him.

Stiles pulls out his keys and presses down on a remote, causing the side of the van to slide open. He climbs in and then beckons to Derek. “No funny stuff, I swear.”

Derek steps up inside, hesitantly, but he’s amazed by what he sees. The place is actually incredible: there’s a small kitchen with a range, a futon currently folded into a sofa, a TV, and a little table with a chair.

“I know you’re wondering where I piss.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Well, I do it outside. Other stuff, too. And I shower at campsites”

“I really wasn’t wondering.”

“But it’s cool, right? The van?” Stiles smiles, a little bashfully.

Against his better judgment, Derek smiles back. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” He steps down out of the van. “Drink some water, Stilinski.”

Stiles leans against the open door of the van. “Have sweet dreams, Ranger Hale.”

And dammit, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lube Room Saloon is a real place, and it's awesome.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek doesn’t see Stiles again for a few weeks. A couple of times he thinks he does, but it’s just somebody else wearing the same windbreaker or some other person climbing on Wolf’s Peak in the same spot where he’d seen Stiles.

What alarms him is how he feels both times he thinks he sees him. He feels excited.

His opinion of Stiles as an obnoxious moron didn’t survive their quiet drive together, so he’s been forced to admit to himself that maybe the guy is kind of cool. And he doesn’t have to force himself to acknowledge that Stiles is fucking sexy. Just because he’s been deliberately celibate for the last five years doesn’t mean he doesn’t have eyes. He’s seen plenty of beautiful people during his dry spell, though; Stiles is the first one he can’t get out of his head.

He admits to himself that he admires Stiles’ courage, both with the climbing and in social situations. Stiles seems to feel a freedom in just about everything he does, which falls on the opposite end of the spectrum from near-hermit Derek. He wants to know more about Stiles, and to be teased by him, and to watch his face go through a thousand expressions in two minutes, and he hates that he wants those things. He’s furious that he wants those things.

When Derek swore off sex and dating he meant for it to be permanent. Everybody who knew (basically just his family and Boyd) told him he wouldn’t feel that way forever and he was sure they were wrong. But maybe they weren’t, because he is seriously questioning his whole philosophy right now.

He’s deep in thought about this, and the Cupid’s bow of Stiles’ plush upper lip, when he practically stumbles upon the man himself.

“Stiles?” Derek finds him sitting down on one of the hiking trails in Wolf’s Peak, even though it’s after hours and raining lightly. “Why are you sitting in wet dirt? How are you even back here right now?”

Stiles looks up from where he had been resting his head on his knees and gives Derek a tired smile. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Is there a short version?”

“The short version is that I messed up my ankle again and I can’t really walk.” He looks at Derek like he’s a little afraid of his reaction.

And rightly so. Derek feels a swell of anger at Stiles for his apparent addiction to being reckless with himself. But he schools his face and says, “Let’s get you out of here, and then I want to hear the long version.” He extends his arm to Stiles, who accepts it and says, “Damn this colder weather, I miss your short-sleeve uniform. Crime to cover all that up.” It’s his usual aggressive banter, but he’s delivering it half-heartedly.

“Hurts, huh?” Derek asks, trying to gentle his voice. It’s a rusty skill for him.

Stiles exhales as he leans into Derek and they arrange their bodies so that they can both walk, but Derek bears most of Stiles’ weight. “Fuck, yes. I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You won’t get any argument from me.”

“Ohhhhh, now he’s got jokes. Just great.” Stiles rolls his eyes at him, but he seems to be perking up a little.

“How many times have I come to your aid now? I’m losing count.” Derek smirks. God, he’s enjoying this.

“I do seem to be consistently compromised whenever we’re together, which is a real shame. I absolutely cannot bring my A-game when wasted or injured. It’s a major limitation of mine.”

They ease out of the woods to where the trailhead meets a road. Only park vehicles can use this road, so Derek’s golf cart stands alone on the dark asphalt.

“I think I prefer your other car,” Stiles says when he realizes they won’t be totally protected from the worsening rain.

Derek starts to form a witty reply when he realizes that he has no idea where to take Stiles.

“How did you get here?” he asks as they take their seats in the cart, Stiles grimacing at the seat streaked with water.

“Well, Scott brought me to the park earlier today and drove me as far into this area as he could. I told him I’d meet him in the parking area down by the hotel at 10 tonight.”

Derek gapes openly at Stiles. “That’s five miles away. And well after the park closes.”

Stiles shrugs. “I may have oversold the health of my ankle. To myself. I couldn’t even make it halfway up the trail.” Frustration clouds his face.

“Is this where you tell me the long story?” Derek decides they can go back to his cabin, wrap Stiles’ ankle, and then he can drive him to his van. He starts driving in that direction.

“Ugh. Not much of a story. I’ve just always wanted to do that trail at night, and since I’m off climbing right now it seemed like a good time.”

“First, that’s not a long story. Second, that is a really fucking stupid story. If you can’t climb, why would you think you can hike?”

“They are extremely different, dude,” Stiles scoffs, arms folded across his chest. “And where are you taking me?”

“They both require you to bear weight on your foot, something I was under the impression you were supposed to avoid?”

Stiles huffs with annoyance but says nothing.

“And I’m taking you to my cabin.”

“Why, Ranger Hale!” Stiles says, instantly brightening. “If I’d known this was the way into your lair I would have stranded myself in the woods weeks ago.” He flashes Derek a coy smile.

Derek groans. “You’re impossible. I just thought you might like to get out of the rain so I can wrap your ankle. Then I can drive you home. To your van, whatever.”

“It’s home,” Stiles agrees. “And okay.”

They ride the rest of the short distance in silence, the low-hanging branches of towering fir trees occasionally brushing the roof. Derek parks the car beside his cabin, then walks around the cart to help Stiles out. Stiles winces and gasps when he accidentally puts pressure on his foot and Derek has to stop himself from just scooping him up and carrying him. Instead, he gruffly wraps Stiles’ arm around his shoulder and guides him to his front door.

Once inside, Derek leads Stiles to his sofa and tells him to lie down, feet over the armrest. He goes to the bathroom himself, rifling under the sink for his medical kit. When he stands up, he catches a glimpse of his own face in the mirror: dark, unkempt stubble, hair overdue for a cut, a permanent frown in place. He starts to pat at his hair to make it look better, than scolds himself and stops, marching back out into the little living area.

Stiles has his hands twisted up in his own hair, and Derek watches the long, straight fingers weaving in and out and wants to replace them with his own. _Get a grip_, he shouts to himself internally. _No molesting the stranger_.

He squats down by Stiles’ feet and gets to work on his ankle.

“Where’s the boot?”

“I...took it off. Kind of hard to hike in.”

Derek levels a hard stare at Stiles. “I believe that is the point.”

Stiles grins and shrugs, wiggling his toes as Derek works. “Is it always this cold in here?”

Derek sighs and tells Stiles to keep his foot still, then gets the fire going. Stiles makes a delighted sound when he realizes what’s happening. “A fire!”

“Indeed.” Derek returns to his foot and deftly finishes the wrapping. “Now please, _please_ do not bear weight on this foot until your doctor clears you.”

“I didn’t realize you cared so much,” Stiles says, watching him closely.

“It’s my job to keep park visitors safe,” he responds briskly, standing up. “Ready to go?”

“Ugh, I guess so.” Stiles closes his eyes and rests one forearm over them, settling even further into the couch. “It’s so comfy here, though.”

Derek feels oddly pleased by the observation; he agrees, after all. He likes the little den he calls home.

“Well, keep enjoying it while I find my keys.” Derek knows he seems like the kind of guy who keeps his keys in the same place every time, but he’s not. He loses his keys almost daily.

His search goes on for five minutes, then ten. Where in the hell are the keys? This isn’t that big of a space, it never takes him this long. Meanwhile, as he’s looking under papers and checking the freezer, just in case, Stiles just lies there, totally at ease.

_He looks good in my house_, Derek thinks. _Fuck_.

Stiles opens his eyes then, to find Derek watching him. Derek looks away quickly. Stiles says, “Can’t find them?”

Derek sighs. “It’s the damnedest thing, but no...I can’t.”

Stiles says, “Hmmmmmm.” 

“You can still call Scott, right?”

“Sure.” Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket, then frowns at the screen. “No signal here either, huh?”

“No. I have a landline.” He gestures to the phone mounted on the wall. “I’ll even let you call long-distance.”

Stiles’ jaw drops. “Does long-distance still exist? Like, as a concept?”

Derek furrows his brow at Stiles and goes to add some more wood to the fire, since he apparently won’t be going anywhere tonight.

“Scotty?” Stiles twists the curly phone cord around his elegant fingers. Derek does not watch, nope. He shoves in another log with vehemence.

“Wait, seriously?” Stiles’ voice goes up an octave. “Tonight?”

Scott says something that has Stiles laughing and congratulating him, and then he hangs up. He stands there, watching Derek build the fire.

“Well?” Derek asks. “He on his way?”

“Um, about that…” Stiles hops over to the sofa and sits down, propping his leg on the coffee table. “Scott can’t actually come and get me, after all.”

“What?” It comes out harsher than Derek intends.

“Yeah, see…” Stiles runs his fingers through his hair, sending it in a million directions. “His new girl, Kira, from the bar the other week? Apparently she invited him over to her place and tonight’s the night they’re gonna...you know.”

Derek snorts. “Are we in fifth grade?”

“Fine,” Stiles says coolly. “Tonight they’re going to fuck.”

Derek swallows and scrambles for a response, but Stiles speaks up first.

“So is it okay if I crash here on your sofa? Scott said he could come in the morning.” Stiles asks so casually, like he’s asking to borrow a book. Derek wonders what it would be like, to feel that kind of ease in every environment, to feel like you deserve whatever you need.

He swallows again. Why is his throat so dry? “Um,” is all he can manage.

Stiles lets out an exasperated breath. “Oh my god, dude. I’m just going to sleep here. I won’t touch you in the bad places or anything, I promise.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I was just thinking about how that couch isn’t very comfortable, and you’re injured. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep out here.”

“No way, man, I’m fine out here.”

“No arguing, it’s done,” Derek says, walking to the kitchen. “Want some dinner?”

“Hell yeah. What you got?”

Derek opens the fridge and pulls out two beers, popping off their caps before walking over to hand one to Stiles. His eyes light up and he clinks the neck of the bottle against Derek’s. “Cheers.”

Back in the kitchen, Derek stares into the fridge. Then stares into the freezer. Then stares into the pantry. Stiles reads the consternation on his face.

“No food?”

“Well, there’s _food_,” Derek says, “but not really a _meal_.”

“Why do I get the idea you’re not much of a cook?” Stiles takes a long pull of his beer and he looks at Derek with amusement.

Derek grunts. “I get by just fine.”

“Apparently not. Look - do you have pasta?”

Derek checks the pantry again and frowns. “There’s a package of...linguini noodles. I don’t know how old they are, but they’re sealed.”

“Okay. Do you have butter?”

Derek confirms that he does.

“Do you have any of the following: crushed red pepper flakes, fresh garlic, black pepper, some kind of dry salty cheese like parmesan, anchovies, green vegetables?”

Derek takes stock and replies that he does have the red pepper, a jar of minced garlic in the fridge from his mom’s last visit, frozen broccoli, and the parmesan cheese that comes in the green container.

Stiles grimaces. “Well, I’ve made do with less.” He starts to get up and Derek stops him.

“No, your foot. Sit. Just tell me what to do.”

Stiles cocks an eyebrow. “You sure about this, big guy?”

“Just tell me,” Derek growls.

So Stiles walks him through how to saute the pepper flakes and garlic in butter after the pasta is cooked, saving some of the starchy pasta water (which Derek thinks is very weird). He objects when Stiles tells him to mix the broccoli in frozen.

“Trust me. It will thaw as you’re mixing it all together, and heat up, but not be too mushy.” Then he tells him when to add the cheese and how much, and how to add pasta water until there’s a thick sauce coating the noodles. When it’s done, Derek kind of can’t believe he just made what’s on the plates in front of him.

He carries the food over to the coffee table and sets the dishes down, carefully avoiding Stiles’ propped foot. 

“Thanks. For that,” Derek says.

Stiles looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you always cook?”

“I live in a van, not under a bridge. I have a stove! And a mini fridge! Yes, I pretty much always cook. In part because I try to eat healthy, and it’s not that easy to find healthy convenience foods.”

Derek thinks about the Hostess cakes in his cupboard and the pizza rolls in his freezer. “Healthy, huh?”

“Kind of necessary when you’re dragging your own body weight over half a mile into the sky. I have to be strong. I have to eat a lot, but avoid empty calories.” He leans over and sniffs the pasta. “Not bad.” He takes a bite, chews. He looks at Derek and smiles. “Not bad at all.”

Derek feels himself blush and hates it. He hopes his stubble conceals it. Based on the way Stiles is still grinning at him, it doesn’t.

They eat quietly. It’s probably the best meal Derek has had in months, but he’s not about to tell Stiles that.

“Want to watch something?” Derek points at the small TV on the bookshelf. “I have Netflix.”

“Slow your roll, buddy, we haven’t even finished our date.” He looks innocently at Derek and shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

Derek gasps, speechless. “I didn’t...we aren’t…”

“Oh my god, you are too easy!” Stiles leans back and laughs heartily. “Calm down, dude. I’m messing with you. Yet again. Why do you fall for it so easily? You’re like a 13-year old virgin. Or...just really homophobic?” He looks cautiously at Derek, his face now serious.

Derek gets offended by that. “Of course I’m not homophobic, I’ve-”

“You’ve what?” Stiles sits up straighter, moves slightly closer. “You’ve been with guys before?”

Derek doesn’t know what to say or how to have this conversation, or why they’re having it at all. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, looking at the dark TV instead of Stiles.

“Not that it’s your business, at all, but...yes. I have. I am. I mean, I’m bi. Or whatever.” His heart pounds and he wants to run out the door and go screaming into the woods.

“Awww,” Stiles pokes his thigh. “Me too. We can be bi buddies.”

Derek looks at him with one eyebrow raised. “What does that mean?”

Stiles grins. “Whatever you want it to mean.”

Derek has no idea what Stiles is playing at and is officially tired of guessing.

“Stiles, I...you should know that I don’t date. Or anything. Like at all. Like, for years.”

Stiles looks properly stunned for the first time since they’ve met.

“You?” he squeaks out. “You? You’re like a freaking Greek god or some famous statue come to life and you don’t...do anything with it?”

A little warmed by the inadvertent compliment, Derek can’t keep in a small smile. “Thanks, I think. But...yeah. I stopped doing that almost six years ago. It was a conscious choice.” A little voice inside his head is shrieking at him to fucking fuck that choice already, and he tries valiantly to ignore it.

Stiles looks thoughtful and chews on a thumbnail. “Hmmmm. Bad relationship? Bad breakup? Must have been really bad.”

After a long silence Derek says, “Something like that. And yes. It was.” He leans back against the sofa and lets out a heavy breath.

“Well, for what it’s worth - which is probably nothing - I don’t date, either.” Stiles shrugs.

“Because it’s hard to find somebody who doesn’t mind you possibly dying every time you do a big climb?”

Stiles bursts out laughing. “Actually - yes! And even if they don’t mind...I’m not okay with taking on that kind of responsibility. Knowing that I could be the reason someone was fucked up for a long time. What I do is insane enough for just me, I don’t want to put that on anybody else.”

Derek thinks about that and nods. “I get it. But...what about Scott? Or...other family?” He doesn’t want to pry.

Stiles looks sad for a minute. “That part sucks.”

Derek angles his body to face Stiles. “So why do it then? If it will hurt the people you love, if it will keep you from loving anybody else?”

Stiles chews on his lower lip; his body language turns rigid and awkward.

“I’ll tell you the reason if you tell me what happened to make you become abstinent.”

Their eyes meet; Derek tries to think of the exact shade of brown to describe Stiles’ eyes. He sighs and says, “Guess we’re at an impasse, then.”

“In a few different ways,” adds Stiles softly.

The moment begins to feel too intimate; as it is, Derek hasn’t connected with another person like this in a very long time. He hops up. “Want another beer?”

If Stiles is dismayed by the abrupt change in tone, he doesn’t show it. He slides down a little further on the couch and breezily accepts.

As Derek leans over to reach into the fridge, he tells Stiles to put something on for them to watch. Stiles complies wordlessly, navigating through the Netflix menus like someone very familiar with the offerings.

Derek sits back down and hands Stiles his beer. “You’re going so fast, how can you tell what looks good?”

“Oh, I’ve seen most of this. Just scanning for something interesting.”

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve even watched Netflix in...six months? Maybe more.”

Stiles squints at Derek and chugs his beer. “You’re such a weirdo, Ranger Hale. What do you do in this little cabin in the woods, all by your celibate self?”

“I dunno.” He drinks his beer. “I go to sleep early and get up early for work. I read. I’m not ever bored.” And it’s true; he isn’t. But he also never feels as engaged or lively as he does right now. 

Stiles shakes his head, smiling to himself. He stops scanning through the show options and puts the remote down.

“What?” Derek asks, suspicious.

“Nothing. It’s just...it’s strange. You are...a very appealing creature. And you’re hiding out here.”

Derek is about to disagree when he realizes he really can’t. He just lets Stiles go on.

“Do you ever miss being touched?” Stiles asks him quietly, carefully.

Derek’s breath catches; he’s not expecting something so direct and straightforward from Stiles. He prepares the response he always gives his sister, goes to tell him he’s fine.

But for some reason he can’t.

“Yes,” he says, looking directly into Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles doesn’t really react, just nods almost imperceptibly. “Okay,” he says.

They sit there like that, listening to the pops of the fire, until Stiles whispers, “Would it be okay if I touched you?”

Derek’s heart stops. It just full-on stops. He can’t breathe. The panic in his eyes must be plain because Stiles laughs and puts a hand on his chest.

“Don’t freak out, Ranger! I know you don’t date. I don’t either, remember? I’m not offering you my hand in marriage. I’m not asking you to go steady. I’m just...asking if you’d like to have a little fun with me. No strings, I swear.”

Derek winces. He’s really not a no-strings kind of guy, but a relationship isn’t an option, either. And it has been a very long time, and Stiles does draw him in like a thousand magnets, so…

“I don’t know. Stiles, I really don’t know about that.” It isn’t a no.

Stiles gets that. He smiles and slides his hand up the side of Derek’s face, his thumb stroking his cheek. Derek sighs into it, he can’t help himself. And just like that his resolve vanishes, and Stiles can tell. He leans in close to Derek, to whisper into his ear.

“Derek. Take me to bed.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some smut?

Derek wants to. He really, really wants to.

And Stiles is so close, emanating such heat, looking at Derek through those endless lashes...it’s hard to think straight. It’s easy to forget why this is a bad idea.

“Stiles...no.” He sighs.

Stiles leans back, a wary look on his face.

Derek feels bad; he knows he was giving off signals, that he was more than receptive a second ago.

“It’s just…” Derek picks at the corner of the armrest. “I don’t think I can.”

Stiles smiles half-heartedly. “Well, I did kind of pounce on you after repeatedly telling you I wouldn’t, so...sorry about that.”

Derek looks at him carefully, holds his gaze. “It’s not you.”

“Have more final words ever been spoken?” Stiles sighs and leans back into the cushions, increasing the distance between them. “It’s okay man, really. I came on pretty strong.” After a pause he adds, “You’re just so fucking hot! You turn me into a 14-year old. I can’t help it.” He winks.

“Pretty sophisticated seduction techniques for a 14-year old. You somehow cooked me a romantic dinner without lifting a finger.” Derek smirks, relieved they’ve moved out of the danger zone and into this more comfortable, familiar territory.

Stiles scoffs. “First of all, I told you I don’t do romance, that was just us eating as well as we could in a dire food situation. But second.” He looks at Derek almost wistfully for a moment, but it’s gone in a flash. “If I were doing romance, it would be a hell of a lot better than that.”

Derek feels a strange tug of jealousy as he imagines Stiles pulling out all the stops for some unknown other person, then turns off those emotions abruptly. He is the one shutting this down, and whether or not Stiles could ever care about him matters not at all, because he could never - would never - care about anyone else that way again, including Stiles.

For the first time in a very long time, he questions his own reasoning.

*****

As he promised, Derek will not let Stiles sleep on the sofa. He helps him to the bedroom, tells him he just changed the sheets that morning and where to find extra blankets, then rushes back to the living room before he can get too vivid an image of Stiles in his most private space. He would like it too much.

Back in the living room, a makeshift bed set up on the sofa, Derek can’t sleep. He wanders through Netflix menus again, much more slowly than Stiles had, determined to find some kind of distraction to carry him from here to a thoughtless oblivion. He’s been up since five, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

But it is hard. _He’s_ hard, honestly. He keeps feeling Stiles’ hand on his face, the warmth of his breath so near his skin, the ghostly pressure of their limbs just barely touching. Derek literally cannot remember the last time another person in real life aroused him at all (let alone like this). 

Derek twists and turns under his wool blanket and tries to remember every reason Stiles annoys him. He tries to summon that exasperated feeling Stiles gave him the first few times they met, but when he does he realizes it was less exasperation and more the shock of being pulled out of a years-long coma. From their first meeting, Stiles has rattled Derek, thrown him off.

Which hasn’t happened since Paige. Which he absolutely does not want to think about.

He can white-knuckle his way through this, he decides. He can outlast this weirdly tempting explosion of energy that just fell into his life and which will fall right back out. Pretty soon Stiles will be done with Wolf’s Peak and they will literally never see each other again. Derek has overcome bigger obstacles than this. He’s strong.

And then he hears it.

Heavy gusts of breath, a muffled whimper, the faintest squeak of the bed frame.

In addition to the cabin’s being tiny, really no more than fifteen feet between where Stiles and Derek now lie, the interior walls are basically just decorative, providing almost no sound barrier whatsoever. As Stiles touches himself, Derek can hear almost everything.

Almost.

And fuck it. Almost isn’t enough.

Ignoring every molecule of sense left in his being, Derek throws off his blanket. He’s wearing only thin flannel pajama bottoms, it being warm so near the woodstove. He doesn’t even consider putting a shirt back on as he crosses the room to the bedroom door, nor does he pause before throwing it open.

His brain is so not in charge right now.

Stiles gasps and starts from where he’s sprawled naked on the mattress, blankets to the side. Just enough moonlight makes it through the window to limn the long lines of his leanly muscled body with a hazy glow. Even in the darkness, Derek can see plenty.

Later Derek will reflect, with shame, at how invasively he acted, how violating of him it was to burst into the room like that. It was wrong, and he wasn’t thinking clearly enough to even acknowledge that.

Thankfully, Stiles doesn’t seem to mind. He makes no move to cover himself, and where his hand had flown off his groin when the door flew open, he now moves it back to where it was, stroking himself as he fixes his gaze on Derek and bites his lip.

Derek knows he must look deranged, or high, but he can’t help it because that’s how he feels. Slamming the door behind him, he yanks off his pajama pants almost violently, and Stiles’ eyes widen and he exhales at the sight of how obscenely hard Derek is.

It’s only a few feet from the door to the bed, and Derek crawls onto the edge, on his knees. Stiles is still out of touching distance, and Derek pauses. He has one remaining brain cell insisting that he do so.

“You want this?”

Stiles nods frantically and reaches out for Derek. His hand wraps around Derek’s forearm, where it’s propped on the mattress. He lets go so Derek can get closer, and Derek doesn’t stop until he’s hovering over Stiles, his arms and legs bracketing the man beneath him. Stiles keeps fisting himself, thrusting his hips, but his eyes don’t stray from Derek’s. They glow, hungry.

Derek eases himself down, so that he’s half lying on Stiles but putting his weight on the mattress beside Stiles. Slowly, he knocks Stiles’ hand off his cock, taking over the long strokes himself. Stiles moans as soon as Derek’s skin touches his.

Derek leans in close, so that his mouth is right by Stiles’ ear. He slides his hand up and down Stiles’ shaft, then brushes over the head with his thumb. He whispers into Stiles’ ear, “God, you’re so wet.”

Stiles shudders hard, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his head back against the pillow. Blindly he reaches for Derek’s chest, petting it lightly as he moves his hand down, down, fingering through the hairs on his belly until he grabs hold of Derek’s erection.

“I knew you’d be huge,” he whispers, then giggles, working Derek over expertly with his deft fingers.

Derek grunts out a laugh that comes out strangled with a groan. No one else has made him come in years. He forgot how electric this feels, how all-consuming. He bites Stiles’ earlobe gently, then nuzzles into his neck, nibbling and kissing the salty flesh there.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasps, lifting his hips up and squeezing Derek tighter. “Fuck, I’m too turned on, I’m gonna come.” No sooner has he choked out the last word than Derek feels Stiles’ cock pulse and swell and spill over his fingers, warm and wet.

Stiles hasn’t let go of Derek, and looks down to where Derek is rutting against Stiles’ hip and now entangling his own come-drenched fingers with Stiles’. “Use it on me,” he grunts, the two of them sliding their fingers over him until he spills, too, his semen pooling on Stiles’ lower belly and dripping down onto the bed.

The second he comes, Derek feels the flash of panic. What has he done?

But Stiles is calmer than ever, eyes closed, peaceful smile on his lips. He stretches his arms over his head and sighs happily. “Jesus Christ,” he says to no one in particular.

Derek wipes his hand on the sheet and flops down next to Stiles, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His breath comes unevenly and he’s sweating, and freaked out, and euphoric, and so confused.

Stiles murmurs something unintelligible and then curls up on his side, away from Derek, asleep already. Derek marvels at Stiles’ calm, when he himself is a veritable frenzy of feelings.

Eventually, he worries himself back to sleep.

On the couch.

*****

Someone knocks on the door politely just after seven. Derek jerks up, stiff and sore and deeply alarmed; his shift started an hour ago. “Coming,” he shouts, glad he dressed himself after last night’s escapades. He hurries to the door, expecting an irritated coworker but finding Scott.

“Hey man,” Scott says, inspecting him carefully. “Stiles is here, right?”

Derek nods, raking his fingers through his probably-wild hair. He’s jumpy and Scott can tell.

“Where is he?” Scott asks cautiously, stepping inside and looking around. When he doesn’t see him right away, his face falls. “Oh no.”

“What?” Derek panics.

Scott grimaces at Derek and shakes his head. “Not you too, man.”

“Sorry?” 

“Listen,” Scott sighs, “I love Stiles, he’s my brother. But he’s a total man whore, and you seem like a very decent person, so-”

“Scott.” Derek smiles, hoping it doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “Nothing to worry about.”

Scott looks at him searchingly, still kind of deflated and worn out, and Stiles enters the room, whistling. He’s fully dressed and looks like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary has happened to him in months.

“Scotty!”

“Hey man. Ready?”

“Yup.” Stiles heads toward the door, pausing just long enough to give Derek a one-armed bro hug. “Thanks for the rescue last night, and for putting me up.” He grins. He looks light as air.

“Sure,” Derek grits out, hoping nothing on the inside is showing on the outside.

From the way Scott looks at him as he follows Stiles out the door, it shows plenty.

After he radios his colleague to apologize for running late and showers fast and decides to grab coffee at the Ranger’s Station, it occurs to him that he and Stiles never even kissed. And he’s furious at himself for missing out on that, on what was probably his only opportunity to feel those perfect lips against his own.

He steps outside, into the sharp autumn morning.

“You are so fucked, Ranger Hale,” he mutters to himself, stomping down the steps.


	5. Chapter 5

Two evenings after Derek’s intense night with Stiles, he reaches down between his couch cushions to retrieve the remote. He has to scrabble around a bit with his fingers, and as he does, his fingers hit cold metal. Key-shaped metal.

“What the hell?” he murmurs as he pulls out the firmly-wedged lost keys. Of all the spots he’s misplaced his keys over the years, he has never lost them in the couch; he hates sitting down with them in his pocket. Usually they’re on some kind of flat surface and buried under other objects. This time they hide so deliberately in the furniture that he strongly suspects someone put them there.

_Stiles_. He was alone out here when they first came back to the cabin, while Derek fetched the medical supplies for his ankle. He could have easily snagged Derek’s keys and hidden them so that they’d be trapped for the night together. But he’d called Scott with no objection...Derek shakes his head. He probably would have come up with some reason that Scott couldn’t arrive no matter what. If the Kira story was even true, Stiles just got lucky.

And then he got lucky with Derek, he thinks bitterly. He feels utterly played, and the sense of agency he’d had about the evening evaporates. Stiles wanted his body and made sure he would get it, no matter what. 

But when he remembers storming into the bedroom, his own urgent need flaring up like a dragon after a decades-long sleep, he knows he can’t blame this all on Stiles. If he’d stood by his initial no, Stiles would have respected it. Right? 

Derek rubs his forehead roughly. He keeps letting himself get sucked into this guy’s dangerous orbit and he’s going to run out of reasons to make Stiles the bad guy here.

*****

Derek’s supervisor calls him on a Tuesday afternoon, a week later.

“Derek, my boy,” he says.

“Finstock,” Derek greets him, sitting down for what promises to be a lengthy discussion (if past experience with his boss predicts anything).

“How they hangin’? You doing okay in that cabin there? Find some hottie to warm your bed yet?”

Derek might be offended by the man’s blunt manner if he didn’t inflict it on everyone he meets. “I’m fine, sir.”

“Ha!” cackles Finstock. “I hope that means you’re keeping your whistle wet, if you know what I mean!” 

Derek cringes.

“Anyway, this isn’t a social call. You know that climbing kid, the one that’s trying to kill himself on Wolf’s Peak?”

Uh oh. Derek swallows hard. Is there some policy against sleeping with park guests? Now that he thinks about it, there really should be.

“Um, yes?”

“Well their whole crew is coming back tomorrow, sounds like he’s healed up and ready to go. Fucking idiot. Anyway. I wanted to ask you to keep an eye on the kid while they’re here. Stay close to the whole thing. Make sure he’s not doing anything particularly reckless.”

“Other than climbing the steepest peak in California with his bare hands?”

“Right. That. Sound good? I told them you’d join them after sunrise and hang around until they finish the project, should be a couple weeks.”

Shit. Getting in trouble would have been better than this. He’s being forced to hang out with Stiles all day long, for weeks. There is no way on planet Earth this ends well for anybody.

“Of course, sir, but – what about my other duties?”

“Eh, don’t worry about that. Tourists are drying up earlier than usual this fall, and we’re fully staffed this year. Plenty of bandwidth for you to go babysit this piece of work.”

“Are you sure you don’t want Isaac Lahey to take this one?” Derek asks wistfully.

“Fuck no, he’s a bigger liability than that Stilinski guy. Wouldn’t put it past him to start sleeping with somebody on the crew.”

Oh, this is just great.

*****

Derek’s stomach flutters as he approaches Stiles’ group the next morning. And if he took extra care shaving and combing his hair that morning, well, it’s a coincidence. He absolutely does not want to make Stiles regret floating out so breezily the morning after they…whatever they did. Nope. After all, he’s the one who really didn’t want to do it. Right?

Stiles’ laughter rings out from the same area they were using before; he’s talking to Scott and gesticulating wildly. Scott’s laughing, too, and for a second Derek misses the fierce intimacy of a close friendship. He reminds himself that it’s easier to only have to worry about himself.

“Derek!” Stiles shouts with delight. He runs over and tackles Derek with a hug, nearly knocking him over.

“Oof,” Derek says. Stiles grins.

“You’re bigger,” he says, “but I bet I have more muscle.”

Derek feels a blush rise on his cheeks as he remembers the full view he’d had of all those muscles, not so long ago. 

“Hmmm,” is all he can say.

“I heard you’re going to be our protector and chaperone?” Scott asks, stepping up and clapping Derek on the shoulder amiably.

Derek smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing so serious. Just here to lend a hand when and if it’s needed.” He focuses on Scott. He can’t look at Stiles’ luscious mouth or tousled hair right now, not when he’s still trying to suppress some very heated memories.

“We’re glad to have you, man!” Scott beams. 

Derek nods. He needs to act official; he’s here for work. “I’ll just be right over here,” he says, pointing to a picnic table half-covered in film equipment. “Let me know if you need me.”

“In which capacity?” murmurs Stiles so quietly he almost misses it, though Scott doesn’t, judging by the hard punch he gives Stiles in the arm.

*****

Hanging out with Stiles every day sucks. 

First of all, he’s been forced to learn just how goddamn _smart_ the guy is. His wit cuts like a knife, but he also possesses vast depths of knowledge on just about every topic. When Derek finally asks him, with exasperation, how the hell he learned all this shit, Stiles just shrugs and says he dropped out of college to focus on climbing, so he overcompensates by using his down time to read anything he can.

Second, Stiles isn’t a jerk. Like at all. There’s not a jerky bone in his body, it seems, which surprises Derek, given that Stiles is kind of famous in his own way and sponsored by some huge fitness brands. But he’s consistently kind and humble with every person he encounters. If somebody’s hungry, he offers them whatever food he has. If somebody looks bored, he hands them whatever book he’s reading or recommends his favorite apps. When anybody gets tense or tempers flare, he slides in and soothes everybody involved with calm, reasoned words. 

Third, and this one is the worst: Derek’s attraction to Stiles only grows as they spend more time together. Although they each pretend like the night in his cabin never happened (much to Scott’s visible relief), they gravitate toward each other helplessly. In a group of nearly 20 people, somehow Stiles is always within a few feet of Derek if he isn’t climbing.

And the climbing. Jesus. Watching Stiles at work mesmerizes Derek, the stunning choreography of those long limbs tracking up the smooth rock face, strong hands gripping with precision, leg muscles bulging. Derek has a major competence kink and Stiles is definitely triggering it.

The downside to the sexiness of the climbing presents itself constantly, though. Even with the ropes Stiles uses for practice, Derek knows he could get seriously hurt. Some portions of Wolf’s Peak are nearly untraversable without luck on your side. Stiles’ luck holds out every day, or it has so far, but what about when it doesn’t?

Scott’s face probably mirrors Derek’s when they watch Stiles go up each time. Worry and fear and even anger crawl over his expression as he stares, nearly unblinking, and watches his friend. Derek gets the feeling that Scott tries to get Stiles to quit this on a regular basis, to no avail. It’s obvious that Stiles loves what he’s doing; the grin on his sweaty, flushed face when he finishes a climb seems like it could power a building. Who would want to take that away from him?

Derek does, and that’s how he knows he needs to keep his distance, for both their sakes.

*****

Stiles still looks at Derek like he wants to eat him up, and he still flirts shamelessly with Derek in front of everyone. But Derek knows it doesn’t mean anything; this is all part of Stiles’ image as the devil-may-care, thrill-seeking bad boy he wants people to see. However he really feels about Derek remains unknown, which is as it should be.

The night after Stiles finishes his first full climb of the Peak, with ropes, he invites Derek to join the group for an outing to the Lube Room.

“I’ll pass,” he says without looking up from the paperwork he’s been doing to fight boredom during the day.

“Dude. I am coming off a climb that took over four hours. I am tired like you have never been tired in your life. And I want beers, and I know you do too because everyone wants beers, and you will have fun and you are coming.” He drops the harness he just removed onto a pile of gear that gets whisked away by an assistant. “Thanks,” he says to the girl with a genuine smile as she scurries off.

Derek looks up and regrets it. Those cola eyes are boring into him and Stiles looks absolutely edible post-climb; all sweaty and energized, but loose and fluid from the exertion. 

“I don’t really go out,” he manages, trying not to stare at the cords of Stiles’ forearms as he pushes up his sleeves.

“No, really,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I had no idea you were a sad hermit.”

Derek sneers and looks back at his work, comfortable he’s dodged a bullet.

“Yo, Derek!” Scott appears, with Isaac. “Did you know Isaac’s dating my girlfriend’s best friend? Isn’t that crazy?” He’s glowing like a toddler on Christmas, practically bursting with joy at this totally unremarkable news.

“That’s cool,” Derek says. “You heading out on a double date?”

“Nah, man,” Scott can’t stop smiling to save his life, “we’re meeting them at the Lube Room. I told Stiles to convince you to come – did it work?”

“Sadly, no,” Stiles sighs. “Derek is immune to my charms.”

Derek squirms while the three men stare down at him, expectant. “You know I don’t like going out,” he says to Isaac. 

“Oh, I know,” Isaac nods. “I just don’t care. Besides, we need you to drive.”

The thought of any of them driving drunk makes Derek’s chest seize, which he’ll consider later. In the meantime, he just sighs and goes to get changed.

*****

The Lube Room hasn’t changed since Derek’s last visit, and neither has his mood. After suffering through the long drive there, during which Scott and Isaac sang (screamed) duets with little to no skill the entire time while Stiles clapped and cheered them on from the back seat, the noise and activity in the bar feels grating.

He glowers at the chalkboard menu on the wall behind the bar, having decided he will pound one drink quickly, enjoy the buzz, and then spend the rest of the evening sobering up to drive. Maybe two drinks; he’s a big guy.

“What’s it gonna be, big guy?” asks Stiles as he sidles up next to Derek, apparently reading his mind.

It’s a good thing he can’t really read Derek’s mind, Derek thinks, considering the explicit nature of his thoughts whenever Stiles is around.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, still scanning the menu. “You?”

“I’m not drinking,” he says casually, changing his tune from earlier. “Get me a water?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, but he knows better than to grill someone about why they aren’t drinking. “Sure,” he says.

*****

Derek skates right on over his two-drink limit and finds himself utterly drunk for the first time in years. He blames Scott and Isaac, who seem to have a limitless capacity for anything alcoholic, and with whom he has been unconsciously keeping up.

“Derek, you are so fun like this, man, you should always drink a lot!” yells Scott as Derek demonstrates his dance moves to a Christina Aguilera song playing on the jukebox.

Stiles, who’s been watching Derek all night with careful amusement, smiles and shakes his head. “It’s pretty cute, I’ll give you that, Scotty, but I think I prefer Regular Derek.”

“But he’s so grumpy!” Isaac yells as he gyrates toward Derek in an effort to dance with him.

“I can hear you!” Derek shouts into Isaac’s face before poking him in the nose. Isaac gasps and storms back to their table, a foot away.

“But you don’t even mind being grumpy, it’s like your brand,” Isaac mutters, finishing his beer in one swallow.

Derek quits dancing and comes to lean against the table, a little too close to Stiles, who backs away slightly. Interesting.

“Grumpy is not a brand. I don’t have a brand. Or, if I do, I prefer…mysterious mountain man.”

Isaac and Scott both burst out laughing. “Oh my god!” they say in unison.

“Don’t you have girlfriends to meet or something?”

Scott fumbles for his phone to check his texts. “Oh yeah, they said they’d be here soon. Looks like…just a few minutes.”

“You coming back to the park, Scott?” asks Stiles, who’s peeling apart a paper napkin.

Scott waggles his eyebrows. “I don’t plan to.” Isaac cackles and high fives him, and Derek groans and drops his head to the table. When he lifts it, only Stiles remains at the table; the other two are near the door, greeting their dates.

“I think I drank too much,” Derek states calmly. “I feel loose.”

“Jesus,” Stiles mutters. He shakes his head and stands up. “Let’s get you home. I can drive your car.”

“No way,” Derek says. “No one drives my car but me.”

“Oh, and are you in any state to be driving? Or did you want to stick around and watch the Hardy Boys stick their tongues down the Doublemint Twins’ throats?”

Derek screws up his face. “Those references are ancient. And really weird.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles shrugs, “I watched a lot of Nick at Nite as a kid, what can I say. So we leaving or what?”

“Fine,” Derek sighs. He hands the keys to Stiles and remembers, with a sobering jolt, the last time Stiles had his keys in hand.

“Hey!” he says urgently.

“What?” asks Stiles, concerned.

Derek realizes he doesn’t know what to say. _I know you trapped me for sex, even though I ended up initiating it._

“Never mind. Let’s go.”

*****

Derek falls asleep instantly in the car, but wakes abruptly when they go over a huge branch on the road.

“What’s that? Dead animal?” he blurts, eyes wide, scanning left and right.

Stiles laughs. “You’re off duty, Ranger. Just a big ole stick. Go back to sleep. I think we’re about…15 minutes from your place?”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep. Not sleepy,” he says, leaning back against the headrest. “I am hungry, though. Shit.” He remembers he was planning to eat out tonight, before the bar plans materialized, because he has no food at home.

“Hmmm…want to come over, I can cook you something and you can pass back out?”

“Are you inviting me to your van cave?” Derek giggles.

“Oh my god, it is so weird being more mature than you. I don’t think I can handle this. Please go back to being shy and fake-gruff.”

Even in his drunken state, Derek catches Stiles’ observation of him. Where most people think he’s angry and aloof, Stiles sees something much gentler (and more accurate, if Derek is honest with himself).

“Given how hungover I’ll probably be tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll be extra-extra gruff. With a side helping of heavy gloom.”

Stiles chuckles and stops the car. His van sits before them, gleaming a little in the moonlight. “Think you can get yourself in there?” he asks, nodding at the van.

Derek scoffs as he unbuckles himself, then falls out the passenger door. He brushes gravel off his sleeves to the sounds of Stiles’ gleeful laughing.

“Shut up,” he growls, “we can’t all be graceful as cats.”

Stiles stops laughing at that, a curious and soft expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, opening his van and offering Derek a hand to step in. When their fingers slide together, Derek fights the urge to grab on tighter and not let go. Stiles’ skin always feels so vibrant.

Once they’re inside, Stiles tells Derek to sit on the futon and asks him what he’s hungry for.

“Lucky Charms?” he asks hopefully.

“No sir, not in my home. How about eggs and bacon? I can even put some cheese on the eggs.”

“Mmmmmm that sounds good, actually. Do that.” He leans back, his hands clasped behind his head, and watches the ceiling while Stiles gets to cooking.

They sit in comfortable silence for a minute before Derek can’t stop himself from asking, “Why’d you hide my keys the other night?”

Stiles drops the egg he was about to crack and it lands in the cast iron pan with a crunch. He turns and looks at Derek, face carefully blank. “What?”

Derek watches him scrape the shattered egg out of the pan into the trash. “You know.” 

“I, um. Ugh. So embarrassing. I wanted to hang out with you.” He cracks two more eggs, expertly this time.

“Why is that embarrassing?” Derek knows he’ll hate himself in the morning for being so forward, but he can’t stop.

“Because! Because nothing can ever happen between us. Neither of us dates, and I’ll be leaving here soon, anyway.”

Derek’s stomach feels cold instantly. He’d assumed Stiles only wanted sex, but what if he wants more? Something Derek definitely can’t give.

“So you regret it because it can’t lead to a relationship?” he asks warily.

“What? No! I told you I don’t want a relationship.” He flips the eggs. Derek notices he’s biting his lip nervously.

“Then I’m not sure I see the problem.”

Stiles sighs. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.” He slides the eggs onto a plate and adds the bacon, then hands it to Derek.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Derek shovels the food in. He burns his mouth, but it’s worth it. He moans in pleasure and Stiles’ eyes widen momentarily.

“Never mind,” Stiles says. 

Derek finishes chewing as fast as he can. “No, not never mind.”

“Derek, would you just…” Stiles rubs his eyes and comes to sit next to him. He’s bothered about something and Derek can’t figure it out. Maybe he wants another no-strings hookup but thinks Derek can’t handle it?

“If you’re worried that I’m going to get attached, Stiles, don’t. We had fun the other night, right? We could have fun again.” God, he hates himself as the words come out of his mouth. But he wants to get his hands on Stiles so badly, he’s lost the ability to make good choices.

Stiles smiles at him, a little sadly. “Yeah, we did. And yeah, we could.” He takes Derek’s now-empty plate from him and puts it into his makeshift sink.

“You’re not eating?” Derek realizes.

Stiles shakes his head. “Let’s unfold the futon, okay?”

Something feels off. If Derek were sober, he knows he would be proceeding with a lot more caution here. But he’s not. So he quietly helps set up the bed, then lies down next to Stiles, looking into his big brown eyes.

“There’s one thing we didn’t do the other night,” Derek says in a low voice.

Stiles smiles, his earlier discomfort seemingly gone. “What’s that, Ranger Hale?”

Derek leans in until their lips are close enough to brush together. They barely touch, then Derek slides his hand around Stiles’ head and brings them closer, turning it into a real kiss. Stiles responds eagerly, wrapping an arm around Derek and opening his mouth wider, sliding their tongues together. Derek moans and Stiles rolls on top of him.

Derek goes to lift off Stiles’ shirt, but a wave of crushing fatigue hits him. He whimpers and Stiles pulls off.

“What is it?” he asks, pupils dark.

“I think I’m gonna fall asleep,” Derek whispers.

Stiles laughs and rests his head on Derek’s chest. “I’m sorry, which one of us climbed 3,500 feet today and which one of us sat on a bench?”

“Sorry,” Derek squeaks, feeling himself drifting. Stiles pats his cheek and goes to the other side of the futon. Derek can’t even stay awake long enough to hear if Stiles replies.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek thinks he might be losing control of his life.

He can’t stay away from Stiles, even though he knows he must. It’s for Stiles’ own good, really. Even if Stiles does light up a little brighter when he sees Derek than when he sees anyone else, even if when they’re together Derek forgets everything but the way Stiles moves his hands when he speaks, the way his eyes flash, the sound of his voice. 

After he woke up hungover and confused in Stiles’ van, crowded next to him on the little futon, things started getting fuzzy. And they haven’t stopped. He’s more confused all the time, even as he comes to know Stiles more deeply, to learn about him.

They did not pick up where they left off kissing that night. Derek kept his distance that next morning, strenuously, even as he kicked himself internally for not really being able to remember his first kiss with Stiles. (Then he chastised himself further for thinking of it as a first kiss, as if there will be more. There won’t be.) Instead of stripping naked and burrowing down under the blanket, like he had wanted to, Derek bid Stiles a hasty goodbye and practically ran to his truck and then back home.

When he’s tempted to feel guilty, he remembers Stiles asserting, yet again, that he does not want a relationship. They’re on the same page there, at least.

But when they show up later that afternoon for filming, things feel strained. Stiles keeps his distance, although Derek catches him looking his way a few times.

“Everything cool with you guys?” Scott asks, appearing out of nowhere like he always does.

Derek looks at Scott, unable to conceal his alarm. “What do you mean, _us guys_?”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Relax. I mean. You guys are friends, right? It’s all good? Him driving you home last night…was fine?”

Scott seems overly invested in his best friend’s love life. But maybe they’re always like this. Maybe Stiles grills Kira whenever he gets the chance.

“It’s fine, Scott,” Derek says dismissively. “Yes, we’re friends. Don’t worry about it.”

Scott watches Stiles and chews on his bottom lip, his brow furrowed. “See, that’s the thing. I do worry about him. I know I told you he’s a man whore-“

“Yes, I recall,” Derek says drily.

“But he has his reasons for that. For keeping people at a distance. It’s not that he doesn’t have feelings.”

_I have feelings, too_, Derek wants to say. _I understand better than anyone how little they matter_.

“Scott,” he says instead. “Stiles is safe with me. There’s no feelings there. Don’t worry.”

Scott does not look like he’ll stop worrying anytime soon. But he nods and heads over to a cluster of crew members, bidding Derek goodbye.

The next time Derek catches Stiles watching him, he smiles. 

This does not have to be a big deal.

*****

This is totally becoming a big deal, Derek thinks, as he mouths along Stiles’ collarbone, tasting his skin and reveling in his stifled groans. But it’s hard to follow a coherent thought anywhere when Stiles is scratching his fingernails up Derek’s bare back and yanking him up for another deep kiss.

Shooting on the first part of the movie wrapped today and when Derek asked Stiles if he wanted to come over for a cup of hot cocoa as everyone was leaving, Stiles didn’t hesitate. Scott had given them a worried look but trudged off alone, and no sooner had Derek gotten Stiles inside the door than they started stripping off layers.

This isn’t the first time since that night in the van, but it is their first time getting naked since their very first time together. Well, almost naked. They’re both in their underwear, grinding up against each other as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. That’s most of what they do when they’re together. Lips and tongues and teeth, in a perfect rhythm, for hours, until Derek’s lips go numb. Neither has pushed for anything more, though Derek’s pretty sure he’s going to come in his underwear any second.

“Fuck,” he breaks their kiss to gasp, “I need to get these off.” He goes back to kissing Stiles as he yanks down his boxer briefs one-handed, just low enough to keep them dry. Stiles pulls off to demand he do his, too, and Derek grins into his mouth, happy to comply. Soon they’re rubbing their bare, leaking dicks together, mouths never separate, until they come at almost the exact same moment. Derek loves feeling their warm, wet mess all over them, and deepens their kiss as Stiles moans happily.

Eventually, Derek hops up to get a washcloth and tells Stiles to stay put. When he returns and cleans them up, he asks Stiles what he has planned for the evening.

“Uh?” Stiles looks confused. “Hanging out with you?”

“Oh.” Derek wasn’t expecting that. Usually they make out, then go their separate ways, lips tingling. They’ve never hung out after messing around.

“Yeah, okay, that’s my cue to leave.” Stiles’ face goes blank and he hurries to get dressed.

“No, no, it’s not. It’s just.” Derek doesn’t know what to say. He wants Stiles to stay, and he doesn’t want Stiles to stay. It’s hard to explain.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles tells him in his trademark super-breezy tone, the one he uses less and less frequently with Derek these days. “I’ll go find Scott or something. Or maybe I’ll start heading to Arizona.”

“Arizona?” 

Stiles nods as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head. “I’m going to go train there for a bit. Before we reconvene for the main event.”

The free solo, he means. Which Derek has begun to dread more every day.

“When do you come back?” he asks without thinking.

Stiles looks at him searchingly, then shrugs. “Whenever I’m ready.”

“Listen, you really don’t need to leave. Especially if I’m not going to see you for a while.”

Stiles shakes his head firmly and heads for the door. “No way, man. It’s cool. Message received. See you later.”

As the door shuts behind him, Derek wonders how different the messages in their heads are. And then he decides to do something he hasn’t done in a really, really long time.

*****

“What?” bellows Isaac’s deep voice from the other side of his room in the Ranger’s Station.

“It’s me,” Derek says gruffly.

A second later, Isaac pulls open his door, shock all over his face. “Derek?” he asks incredulously, like they’ve just run into each other on a space station.

Derek raises an eyebrow, then looks past Isaac at his room pointedly.

Isaac doesn’t move. “You have never come to my room!” he says, still in awe.

“I’m here now.” He decides not to wait to be asked inside and strolls past Isaac into his little quarters. He sits on the love seat against the back wall and waits for Isaac to regroup and act normally.

“Um. Okay. Is everything okay? Are you okay? Do you want something? A beer?” Isaac keeps running his fingers through his curls, on edge.

“Jesus, is it that strange for me to come visit you?”

“Yes,” Isaac nods, “it really is.”

Derek sighs. “Sorry about that. Sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

Isaac lowers himself warily onto the chair across from Derek. “Okay.” He still looks terrified.

“Isaac.” Derek rolls his eyes. “Nothing is wrong. I am fine. Will you fucking relax?”

Isaac makes an offended face and crosses his arms. “Well, then what’s up? You really just want to talk about the weather? How about that dead rat that lady found in her pillowcase in the Lodge?”

Derek smiles wanly. “Look, I know I’m not very good at this. At...people stuff.”

“People stuff,” Isaac repeats.

“Like, relationships,” Derek grits out like it hurts him.

“Do we have a relationship?” Isaac asks with obvious excitement. “Are we in a relationship? Like, a friendship? Do you consider us friends?”

“I’m reconsidering it right now, but - yes. I thought it was obvious we were friends?”

Isaac winces. “What’s obvious to you is pretty fucking subtle to the rest of us, man. But, whatever. I absolutely think of you as a friend. We are friends, yes. No take backs!”

Derek can’t help laughing a little. “Trust me, you’re getting the shitty end of this bargain. But thanks.”

“So...is something up?”

Derek drops his head into his hands. He has no clue how to bring this up. He’s sifting through possible ways to start the story when Isaac speaks.

“Is it Stiles?”

“What?” Derek’s head snaps up so hard he thinks he might pull a muscle. “Why do you ask that?”

Isaac smirks. “Well, is it?”

Derek sighs. “Actually, yes.”

“Was it that night after the Lube Room? Did you guys hook up?”

“Not that night, no.” Derek braces himself for Isaac’s reaction. But when it comes, it’s blessedly minimal.

“Okay,” Isaac says. “How was it?”

“Um. Well, it’s just been a few times. Nothing too heavy.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Derek glares at Isaac. “It doesn’t matter how it was. I’m just not really sure what to do about it.”

Isaac gives him a sly smile. “If it wasn’t good, you wouldn’t be thinking about it now. You’d be pretending none of it ever happened, while you brooded in hibernation.”

“Hey,” Derek says, mildly offended, mostly because Isaac knows him better than he thought.

“Whatever, man,” Isaac grins. “So you came here…for help?”

“You’re right, this was stupid.” Derek stands up to leave.

“No no no!” Isaac jumps up to stop him. “I’m serious! You want my help, right? Because I can. I can totally do that.”

Derek flops back down. “I’m just not even sure what to ask you.”

“Let’s start with the basics. Do you like him?”

Derek glares at Isaac. “Of course I like him, would I be messing around with him if I didn’t?”

Isaac widens his eyes. “We are very different people,” he says with wonder. “Okay, so you like him. And we’ve inferred that your…relations are enjoyable. Are you trying to decide whether or not to, like, make it official? Be an actual couple?”

“No,” Derek says with vehemence. “I don’t do that.”

“So you’ve said. Why is that?”

Derek rubs his eyes and sighs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Isaac gets up and walks over to sit down next to Derek. “Listen, man, I get it, but I can’t offer much in the way of help if you don’t tell me anything. I don’t need the whole story, just the punchline, maybe?”

With his head in his hands, Derek says, “I haven’t talked about this in a really long time. I’m not sure how…look, I guess the punchline is that when people get close to me, they get hurt. They trust me, even though they shouldn’t, and it ends up costing them. A lot. And I do like Stiles and I don’t want him to be in danger because he relies on me.”

Isaac chuckles. “I’m sorry, did you say you don’t want Stiles to be in _danger_? I think that ship has sailed, and re-sails every day.”

“Exactly. I don’t need to make things worse.”

“Derek, I don’t get how you could be a bigger risk to Stiles than he is to himself.”

“Believe me. I can.”

“Okay. So it sounds like you’ve made up your mind. What’s the issue?”

Derek sighs and leans back. “What if he wants more?”

“What if _you_ want more?”

Derek jerks toward Isaac and frowns. “But I don’t.”

“Right. And that’s why you’re sitting in my room at 8pm on a Friday night with a hickey on your neck, telling me more about yourself than you have in the three years I’ve known you.”

Derek opens his mouth to refute him, but he can’t. He doesn’t know how to explain his unwillingness to examine his own feelings, since he doesn’t think his feelings matter, not when someone else could get hurt.

But maybe with Stiles, his feelings are too big to be ignored. Like the man himself, they dominate any available space.

So he tells Isaac, “I don’t know,” but he knows that Isaac can tell he doesn’t really mean it. Mercifully, Isaac doesn’t make him spell it out.

“Okay,” Isaac says. “Well, if you were to ask my opinion – and I recognize that you have not done so, explicitly anyway – I would say that I think you and Stiles are pretty well matched and the way you guys look at each other is pathetically sweet. So if you’re prepared to set aside your fears, whether for him or yourself, you could maybe have something great.”

For himself, Derek ponders. _Is_ he afraid for himself?

“I think I may have pushed him away a little too well,” Derek admits. “He might even be on his way to Arizona right now.”

“I can find out,” Isaac shrugs, leaning over for the phone on the table near him.

“Do you have Stiles’ number?” Derek asks, trying not to sound as jealous as he feels.

“Nah, I’m just asking Scott what Stiles is up to.” Isaac dials and waits, then greets Scott. They chat for a minute, while Derek sits there awkwardly fidgeting, then Isaac hangs up.

“They’re over in Scott’s room at the Lodge. That’s where I called.”

Derek gets an idea, tries to talk himself out of it, but goes for it anyway. 

“Isaac – can you call Scott back and ask him to give Stiles a message from me?”

Isaac grins. “You betcha.”


	7. Chapter 7

Derek wonders what Stiles made of his message the night before as he makes himself coffee. He had almost expected Stiles to come barging over as soon as he’d heard the words from Scott. But the night had passed quietly. And now, as Derek boils water and stares out his little kitchen window, he wonders if Stiles will make this whole problem go away by just not responding.

That would be ideal, right?

He assures himself it would be. And he goes about his Saturday as normal: he reads for a bit, goes for a hike, calls his mom. But his skin itches and he paces around his cabin, unable to do nothing.

Which is how he ends up knocking on the side of Stiles’ van that afternoon, feeling like an idiot. He’s probably not even there.

But Stiles opens the door, a quizzical but unsurprised look on his face. “Derek,” he says, holding onto the sliding door.

“Hi.”

Stiles snorts. “So first you call my best friend and have him pass a message, like we’re in middle school, telling me ‘Don’t go to Arizona,’ and now you have nothing to say?”

Stiles speaks so smoothly, so unruffled. Derek feels all jumbled and twitchy and unable to project any kind of confidence. 

“I wasn’t sure if you got the message or not,” is all he can come up with.

Stiles smirks. “I got it.”

“Okay.” Fuck, what now?

“Do you want to come in?” Stiles asks, somewhat reluctantly.

“Is it okay if I do?” Derek asks.

In response, Stiles retreats from the door back into the van, waiting. He sits on the futon and crosses his arms.

Derek ducks inside and doesn’t know where to put himself. He looks around in a panic until Stiles rolls his eyes and tells him to sit next to him, for crying out loud.

“Why don’t you want me to go?” 

Derek realizes he should maybe have prepared for this conversation better. He racks his brain for something intelligent and charming to say, but only comes up with “Uh.”

Stiles sighs. “Derek.”

“I know, I know – I’m terrible at this. Bear with me.”

Stiles nods and looks at Derek directly.

“Fuck, I can’t think of anything to say when you look at me with those eyes,” Derek sighs, rubbing his forehead.

Stiles turns pink and can’t repress his smile. “My eyes? Are you kidding? What about yours? I still haven’t even figured out what color they are, they’re like a kaleidoscope I can’t look away from.”

He sounds just like Derek’s mom, in a way that warms him deeply. “Thanks,” he says softly. He really, really wants to kiss Stiles. But he can’t, not yet.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick. I didn’t want you to leave with that as your last impression of me.”

Stiles looks a little disappointed. “So you’re here to make a better one and have a clear conscience when I do leave?”

“No,” Derek shakes his head, “no. I’m here because I don’t think you should go at all. Can’t you train around here? Wouldn’t that be better, even?”

“But why? I mean – you were right. Neither of us dates, and we’ve had plenty of fun. It’s best to cut it off sooner rather than later.” He sounds a little robotic, like he’s used this speech on himself before, multiple times.

Derek watches Stiles lower his eyes to his hands, his thick fringe of eyelashes splayed against his cheek. 

“What if we weren’t right? Or…what if we were right but we should just say fuck it?”

“Huh?” Stiles bites his lower lip and looks truly confused.

Derek exhales, frustrated with the difficulty of explaining something he doesn’t understand himself. “I mean…we don’t date, for whatever reasons, but what if we did it anyway?”

“Like, date? Have a relationship?” Stiles asks, pretty mouth hanging open.

“Yes.”

“We’ve sort of gone backward, for that. We don’t really know each other, but I’ve seen you naked.” Stiles flicks his eyes up and down Derek’s body and winks.

Derek rolls his eyes, but smiles. “So let’s slow down. Physically. And get to know each other.”

“That sounds…painful. And difficult.”

“I’m not suggesting anything permanent. Just until we figure out if we do, in fact, want to be together. Just because we’re compatible in one way…”

Stiles sighs. “And how.”

Derek elbows him. “Shut up. What are you doing today?”

“Hadn’t decided yet. Thought I might be starting a 1,000 mile drive.”

“If I can convince you to stay…want to do that hike I found you collapsed on?”

Stiles gasps in offense. “I was not collapsed. I was merely seated.”

“In the dirt. While it was raining. At night.”

“Fine, let’s hike. It’s a hike-off. It’s a motherfucking hike-off.” Stiles moves a few feet and digs his hiking boots out of a trunk that doubles as a table. Before he’s pulled them out, though, he stops and looks at Derek very seriously.

“Question.”

“Yes.”

“Can we still kiss?”

Derek answers him by leaning over so far he almost falls, to bring them close enough to give Stiles a hearty peck on the lips. 

“Try and stop me,” Derek grins.

*****

Stiles trains every day and Derek resumes his regular duties at the park: helping lost hikers, taking things to the lost and found, putting out small fires, and all the other million odd jobs someone has to do. He feels a genuine burst of warmth whenever he sees that he and Isaac are on shift together and even voluntarily asks him how it’s going with his new girlfriend, Allison. Derek can’t remember the last time he started a personal conversation with another human being, and now he’s doing it all the time. It’s weird.

Most evenings, Stiles is too exhausted after climbing all day to do much of anything, but he usually opts to do nothing with Derek instead of doing nothing by himself. They hang out in Stiles’ van, watching movies on his laptop and eating Stiles’ cooking straight from the pot (why dirty extra dishes when running water isn’t an easy commodity, they agree), or Stiles gives Derek more from-the-couch cooking lessons at his cabin and they sit around in front of the fire for hours at a time. 

Both men have been shying away from alcohol on their dates, even when they join a group outing to the Lube Room. Derek knows he’s doing it to maintain some self control around Stiles, since they promised to slow down the physical part of their relationship. It’s hard enough to resist throwing Stiles onto his bed when he catches a single glimpse of his profile against the firelight; that adorable upturned nose, the hollow beneath his cheekbone. Throw booze into the mix and it would be all over. Or it would all begin, more like.

It’s while they’re at the Lube Room one night, a few weeks after they officially start dating, that Scott casually refers to Derek as Stiles’ boyfriend. Derek freezes when he hears the word, fear tightening his throat, but then he watches Stiles laughing a few feet away at something Kira says, his eyes alight, and a feeling of pride replaces the fear. _Damn straight that’s my boyfriend_, he thinks.

*****

As the date of the solo climb draws near, Derek watches Stiles going through the preparation process with mounting trepidation. He’s been doing some morbid internet research and was genuinely shocked by how many free climbers have died in the act. It jars him to read about the careers of people who accumulated great feats and fame and then one day, in the prime of their lives, just never went home again. That could be Stiles, especially since the climb he’s attempting is probably the most dangerous one that anyone’s ever tried. “Tried” being the operative word.

He hopes, sometimes, when he and Stiles are cracking up at a stupid movie, Stiles nestled into Derek’s shoulder, warm and heavy in just the right way, that Stiles won’t go through with it. He starts to hope more and more until he can’t resist bringing it up.

“You don’t have to do it, you know that, right?” he asks Stiles as he’s dropping him off at his van one evening.

Stiles smiles, sadly and like he’d been expecting this. “I do, though.”

“No. Why do you need to? I’m having a really hard time understanding that. It’s…it could be deadly, Stiles.”

Stiles chuckles, looking straight ahead instead of at Derek. “Every climb I’ve done could have been fatal. But I’m still here.”

“It’s Russian Roulette, Stiles! Just because the chambers have been empty so far…”

“Don’t compare my career to a sick game,” Stiles hisses, finally turning to face Derek. “I’m an athlete. This is what I do.”

“Didn’t you lose a big sponsor last week because they found out about Wolf’s Peak? They said they couldn’t promote someone doing something so reckless?”

Stiles makes an exasperated noise. “I never said it wasn’t dangerous. But that’s a huge part of what makes it so incredible, Derek! Please don’t ask me to stop. I’ve wanted to climb Wolf’s Peak for years. It would be the ultimate success. It would literally be a dream come true for me. Why wouldn’t you want that for me?”

Derek sighs deeply and leans his forehead into the steering wheel. He doesn’t know how to form the words, to convey to Stiles why his safety matters so much to him, maybe more than it matters to Stiles himself. 

“Because,” is all he manages after a long minute. He shifts his head enough to look at Stiles, but doesn’t lift it from the wheel.

Stiles smiles and strokes one hand over Derek’s hair. “I get it,” he says.

_No_, Derek thinks. _I don’t think you do._

*****

The conversation continues to come up, more and more often. Stiles gets progressively more irritated by it, and Derek gets frustrated that Stiles can’t give him a good enough reason for risking his life. What’s worse, Derek can’t quell the rising fear that he might be making this whole thing even more dangerous by being a distraction for Stiles.

He gets this idea from Scott, whom he sees in the Lodge cafeteria one day about a month into his relationship with Stiles. (Overall, Scott seems thrilled about them pairing up, but Derek catches him watching him and Stiles together sometimes with a wary look on face.)

“Derek!” Scott cries out, with his usual excessive good cheer. “Come sit with me!”

Derek nods and steers toward Scott’s table by the window, careful not to spill the soup on his tray. He sets it down carefully and then lowers himself into the chair next to Scott. He’s on break right now, but still technically on duty, so his posture is a little more formal than usual. Scott’s body language immediately mirrors his and they both poke at their food awkwardly.

“I’m glad to run into you,” Scott says finally. “I’m worried about Stiles.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you always?”

“Yeah, but it’s never been this bad before. He hasn’t really attempted anything so ridiculous before, and it’s really looking like he’s going to go through with it.” Scott grimaces and sips his carton of chocolate milk.

“Well,” Derek sighs, “I’m not any happier about it.”

“Can you talk to him? Convince him? He might listen to you.”

Derek snorts. “Seriously? I thought you knew the guy. He’s definitely not going to listen to me. And I’ve tried, trust me. I think we’re at the point where every time I try to talk him out of it, he just gets a little bit more determined.” He shakes his head and spoons some soup into his mouth. 

“Shit,” Scott says, looking forlorn. “I was really hoping you could stop him. I figured, now that he finally has something to lose, you know?”

Derek doesn’t want to assume he understands. “Huh?”

Scott smiles. “Come on, dude. You know he’s super into you. And you guys are, like, actually together. He hasn’t done that in years. Not since before his dad died.” 

Stiles never, ever talks about his parents and changes the subject whenever family comes up.

“When was that?”

“Our senior year. And he’d basically just gotten over losing his mom a few years before. They were both young, you know? So fucking unfair.” He taps his empty milk carton against his tray absently.

Derek clears his throat. “He doesn’t talk about it. I mean, with me.”

Scott frowns. “That sucks. I guess he’s still pretty fucked up about it. Too raw or something.”

“I get it,” Derek says truthfully.

“He’d just really made himself into an island, you know? Like it was okay that he lost them because he needed to be unattached to do what he does. So I thought maybe…well, never mind.” Scott squeezes Derek’s shoulder. “Just promise me something, okay?”

“What?”

“Make sure he’s on his game, that he’s thinking clearly. I’m totally psyched about you two, but he can’t afford to be distracted right now. So, I don’t know, help him focus? Keep him on track?”

“Of course,” Derek says without thinking. He promised himself the same thing long ago, terrified as he is to be the reason Stiles gets hurt.

Scott thanks him and leaves. Derek wants to call him back and grill him on every detail about Stiles, all the things Stiles is keeping from him. But he doesn’t; Stiles needs to tell him all that stuff himself, when he’s ready. How close will they need to be before that happens, he wonders. _Too close_, his brain supplies, and he ignores it.

*****

But when he’s not all tied up in knots worrying about Stiles, or his effect on Stiles, things are good. Better than good. Better than he can remember his life being in a very long time.

Derek’s mom invited herself for a visit in a couple weeks’ time; he’s thinking about introducing her to Stiles. He’ll kind of have to, he realizes, since he and Stiles hang out together every single day and it would be weird for Derek to disappear for a week. But he actually wants them to meet, which is strange and scary and exciting. He’s just not ready to tell Stiles yet.

“Why are you wearing your constipated thinking face?” Stiles asks as he drops onto the couch next to Derek, handing him the bowl of popcorn he just made while he looks for the remote.

Derek selects a piece of popcorn and flicks it at the center of Stiles’ forehead. He laughs with delight and tilts his head back so that the popcorn falls into his mouth; Derek marvels at how gracefully he does everything. Who looks suave after getting hit in the face with food? Only Stiles.

“Maybe because I was thinking? Glad to know how I look when I’m doing it,” Derek says, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Thinking about what?” Stiles asks casually, like he doesn’t expect anything serious. He has no idea how much Derek broods, which must be some kind of selective ignorance on his part, Derek thinks.

“You,” he answers honestly. He sets the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and tackles Stiles, pinning him down on the sofa. Stiles laughs and pretends to struggle, but within seconds they’re kissing, Stiles’ arms around Derek’s neck.Derek doesn’t pull back after a minute the way he usually does. Instead, he deepens the kiss, licking Stiles’ tongue as he grinds his entire body against him.

“Woah,” Stiles pants, eyes closed as Derek sucks along his neck. 

They haven’t been totally chaste since they started dating. They make out constantly, and sometimes they strip down to their underwear and rub off against each other or stick their hands down each other’s pants. Once, Derek went so far as to pull both their shorts down to just under the swell of their asses, enough to free their aching cocks, so he could stroke them off at the same time as he swallowed down Stiles’ delicious sounds and their chests slid together.

“Is this okay?” Derek whispers into Stiles’ ear, dragging his fingertips up the hard planes of Stiles’ abdomen under his shirt.

“Do you mean…exactly what you’re doing right now, or what I think we both would like to be doing instead? Because…both are good.” He squirms and arches his back as Derek plays with his happy trail.

Derek draws back slightly. “Yeah? You think…we should?”

In lieu of answering, Stiles sits up swiftly and pushes Derek into the back of the sofa, straddling his lap. He leans down just slightly to reclaim Derek’s mouth and kisses him urgently, then sits back and tears off his shirt.

“Yeah,” Stiles pants. “We should.”

Derek stands up, grabbing hold of Stiles’ thighs so he can carry him to the bedroom. Stiles rolls his eyes but tightens his grip around Derek’s hips and shoulders. “Showoff,” he mutters.

Derek chuckles darkly. “You think that’s showing off? Just wait.” He tosses Stiles onto his bed and then climbs on himself, stalking up Stiles’ body until he’s crouching over him on all fours.

“What do you want me to do to you, Stiles?” Derek asks before kissing his way from Stiles’ mouth down his chest, flicking his tongue over a nipple and making Stiles shiver.

“Oh my god,” gasps out Stiles. “Everything?”

Derek sits back on his haunches and strips off his own shirt. “Can I fuck you?” he asks.

Stiles can’t take his eyes off Derek’s chest and also seems to have lost the ability to form actual words. “Uh huh,” he stutters out, nodding vigorously. He scrabbles for the button to Derek’s pants and then surges up to join their mouths in a messy, urgent kiss.

Derek pushes him off gently, smiling, so he can get out of his pants. He peels off his boxers at the same time; there’s no use pretending this is going to be a long, drawn-out affair. At least not the first round. They’ve had over a month of foreplay.

Stiles curses under his breath at the sight of Derek’s hard cock, bobbing up and down as he wiggles around to get Stiles out of his pants. “Fuck, Ranger Hale, you’re killing me,” he says, leaning back against the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut.

Once he uncovers Stiles fully, Derek pauses to drink in the sight of his gorgeous, elaborately muscled body. You wouldn’t know it when he’s fully dressed, he thinks, but Stiles probably has muscles scientists haven’t even discovered yet. He’s a vision, and Derek traces his hands over his incredible thighs, in awe.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, reverently. Stiles whimpers and writhes on the bed, eyes still closed like he’ll explode if he opens them. Derek knows the feeling.

“Stop me if I do anything you don’t like,” Derek says as he kisses his way up Stiles’ inner thighs. Stiles responds with a garbled affirmative and a moan. He slides his hands under Stiles, to cup and squeeze his cheeks as he closes his mouth over the head of Stiles’ dick.

Stiles gasps and Derek tightens the suction, then releases it to lick his way around the most sensitive part. “Jesus,” Stiles moans.

Derek slides his hands down to the backs of Stiles’ thighs, then hoists his legs up and apart, giving him access to Stiles’ hole. He takes Stiles’ balls into his mouth, one by one, feeling the wiry hairs tickle his tongue, then licks over his perineum and down to his ass.

Stiles is breathing heavily now and intermittently making delirious sounds. When Derek asks if he can eat him out, Stiles practically convulses as he agrees.

Derek takes his time licking in and around Stiles’ hole, teasing it open with the tip of his tongue. He alternates between stroking Stiles’ thighs and his balls as he relaxes him with his mouth, feeling him start to soften into intense, blazing arousal.

“Derek, I need you to fuck me,” he says between gulps of air, his fingers rubbing into Derek’s scalp where he’s had his hands this whole time.

Derek responds by swallowing down Stiles’ cock once more, just long enough to get him to shout, and then rolls overs to the bedside table for the condom and lube. “Position?” he asks.

“Like this,” Stiles nods, and Derek thrills at the prospect of watching Stiles’ face as he moves inside him. He rolls on the condom with lightning speed, then slathers himself up with lube.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks as he lowers himself back over Stiles, knowing the answer might be no, given where his mouth has been. Stiles answers by lifting his head to kiss him hungrily as he slides his hand down Derek’s side to grip his ass. Without words, they keep kissing as they scoot their bodies into place. 

Derek pulls back once they’re lined up. “I want to watch,” he whispers as he guides his cock to Stiles’ hole and presses it against the opening. He lifts Stiles’ legs up and open and can’t look away as he slowly, slowly slides into Stiles’ body.

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Stiles moans. “Fuck that’s intense.”

“Okay?” Derek asks, concerned but also half-drunk with pleasure at the hot feeling of Stiles enveloping his dick.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, “just need a second to adjust. Been a while.” He smiles and Derek moves up to kiss him, softly this time.

“I’m sure it’s longer for me,” he laughs into Stiles’ mouth. “I’m going to last about four seconds, I apologize in advance.”

“It’s okay, I know where to get more…ohhhhhhh.” Stiles throws his head back against the pillow as Derek starts thrusting into him in a steady rhythm. “Fuck yes.”

Hoping Stiles is as close as he is, Derek wraps his hand around Stiles’ cock and jerks him in time with his thrusts. Stiles body moves with Derek’s and they keep their faces close together, even when they’re too far gone to have the coordination to kiss.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, “you’re gonna make me come.”

Derek’s own orgasm gets much closer at the words and he groans. “Come for me, baby,” he growls, and Stiles does, his come slick all over Derek’s fingers as he fucks into Stiles even harder once, twice more and fills the condom, crying out.

Once they’ve caught their breath, Derek reaches down to pull himself out, careful not to spill the condom, then hops up to throw it out in the bathroom. He catches sight of himself in the mirror: flushed, disheveled, sweaty. Happy.

He hurries back to Stiles, burrowing down against him and wiping him up with the washcloth he grabbed. He pulls the blanket over both their bodies and nuzzles into the space behind Stiles’ ear. They both sigh with contentment and begin to fall asleep, even as Derek’s mind races with the terrifying stirrings of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it seems non-canonical to describe Stiles as always graceful, but this is a much older, athlete!Stiles...I feel like he definitely grew into his limbs...


	8. Chapter 8

Derek wakes up before Stiles, freezing. He’d been too distracted last night to stoke the fire before they fell asleep, and now it’s ice cold in the little cabin. Stiles, at least, seems warm - no doubt due to being blanketed by Derek’s body all night. He slides out of bed as quietly as possible, tucking the blanket in around Stiles carefully. He’s been working his body hard lately (and not just with Derek) and needs his rest.

But no sooner has Derek gotten the kindling alight then Stiles shuffles into the living room, yawning, wrapped in Derek’s blanket. He drops down onto the floor next to Derek and nuzzles his head into Derek’s side, murmuring sleepy nonsense.

“Why didn’t you stay in bed, dummy? It’s cold out here,” Derek asks.

“Missed you,” Stiles says into his shoulder. He lifts his head to kiss Derek on the cheek before entwining the fingers of his left hand with Derek’s right. “Let’s just go back to sleep right here where it’s toasty.”

Derek laughs softly, unable to feel anything in this moment other than a proud kind of bliss, seeing Stiles like this, in his space. The early morning seems so much more intimate than the night, somehow.

“I would love that. But my shift starts in half an hour.”

Stiles groans dramatically and fakes weeping. “That’s ungodly.”

“Okay, but my actual job is pretty tame. Unlike yours. I’m highly unlikely to die.” Derek raises an eyebrow, completely serious but keeping his tone light.

“Actually,” says Stiles, “park rangers are 12 times more likely to die on the job than _FBI agents_. Did you know that?”

“No,” says Derek. “How do _you_ know that?”

Stiles blushes and fiddles with the blanket. “I might have done some...general research about rangers.”

“When?” Derek grins.

“Ugh,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Fine. Like. After the night we met.”

“What?” Derek says, genuinely shocked. “After we met for five seconds in the complete darkness and I yelled at you like an old man?”

Stiles nods. “Apparently I’m into that.” He leans into Derek again, pecking him on the lips once, then going back in for a full, deep kiss. A kiss that quickly turns dirty; as soon as Derek feels himself getting hard, he shoves Stiles back gently.

“None of that now. I don’t want to start anything I can’t finish properly.” He rubs his nose gently against Stiles’ and hauls himself up to get ready for the day. “Which is why I’m not inviting you to join me in the shower.”

“Who says I need an invite?” Stiles asks with a wicked look in his eye.

“I’m locking the door, you menace.”

“Hey,” Stiles says, tone more serious. He gets up and walks over to Derek, backing him up into the wall by the bathroom. He gives him a light kiss and then presses their foreheads together. “Last night was incredible.”

“Yeah,” Derek whispers, feeling his heart pound.

“I’m going to be thinking about it all day.” Stiles kisses him again and then sighs, going to lie on the couch while Derek showers.

_Hell_, Derek thinks as he enters the bathroom. _I’m probably going to be thinking about it forever._

*****

Derek scrubs at the new graffiti on the side of the restrooms near a popular hiking trail, cursing whatever degenerate did this. Why come all the way into a National Park just to deface something? He’s muttering and shaking his head when Isaac reaches him, breathless from running.

“Hey, man,” he gasps, leaning over to catch his breath. “Found you finally.”

Derek realizes he left his radio in his golf cart a while ago and cringes; that’s a major no-no in this job.

“What happened? Emergency? Somebody hurt? Dead body?” They’ve had to remove a few of those before.

Isaac gulps in more air and looks like he’s choosing his next words carefully. Derek tilts his head, confused. “Well?” he asks impatiently.

“It’s Stiles.”

Derek’s head rushes and he feels suddenly cold; there’s a familiar, desperate feeling in his chest. His hand locks around the scrub brush and he can’t feel his fingers.

“What about Stiles?” he demands. “Isaac, what?”

“He’s hurt.”

Derek closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe in and out a few times. “Where is he,” he asks, with a calm he knows sounds menacing. He can’t help it. He’s this close to losing it and he’s hanging on for dear life.

“He’s at the hospital in Lacey. They should have arrived by now.”

Derek nods. It could be worse; that’s a small hospital and they would have airlifted him somewhere bigger if it were life and death. Hopefully. Derek stalks in the direction of his golf cart, focusing on the sound of his boots hitting the ground. Isaac hurries to catch up with him.

“Let me drive you, man. You’re upset.”

Derek doesn’t look at Isaac, just keeps walking. “How did you know?” he asks. He suppresses the urge to feel hurt that Isaac got the news before he did.

“I was actually there when it happened,” Isaac says, sounding shaken. “I was giving directions to a couple near there and saw Scott, so I went to say hi. And just as we started talking, we saw him...we saw him fall.” He swallows and glances at Derek nervously. “I radio’d you right away.”

“I fucking knew this would happen,” Derek grits out as he slams into the golf cart, Isaac following. 

“Derek-” Isaac starts.

“Don’t.”

They drive in silence to Isaac’s car, and then all the way to Lacey.

*****

Scott greets them in the waiting room ER, his usual goofy grin absent. His hair looks like he’s been tugging at it and there’s a crease in his brow. Derek’s never seen Scott look truly worried before, and it freaks him out.

“Hey guys. Stiles will be glad you’re here. I think they’ll let us go back soon.” He gestures to a row of empty seats and flops down himself, rubbing his jaw.

“What happened?” Derek demands, not sitting.

Scott looks up at him wearily. “Not entirely sure. He was in too much pain to say much. I think it’s his arm, and maybe his ribs. It’s pretty bad.”

“I want to see him,” Derek says. “Where is he?”

Isaac watches Derek with real concern as Scott shakes his head. “You can’t, man, not yet. They have him off doing x-rays, they said they would let me know when he was back and able to see people.”

Derek huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Fuck this!” He drops into a chair across from Scott and glares at the wall. 

“I told him not to go up today,” Scott says to his hands. “He was acting all silly and giddy and totally unfocused. Wrong day to take chances.”

That hits Derek like a bullet. He was right. He did distract Stiles, and now Stiles is in the hospital and who knows what’s wrong. And he didn’t die, but he could have, probably.

“I can’t do this,” he says, not even intending to say it out loud. Isaac and Stiles look at him in alarm.

“What do you mean?” Scott asks.

“I mean I was right. This is too dangerous. Me, for him. This happened because of me.”

Scott gets angry in a flash and his eyes blaze at Derek. “Don’t you dare.”

“What?” Derek asks.

“Don’t you fucking do this to him. Whether or not you distracted him, and I don’t even give a shit about that right now, he’s hurt and he’s going to be expecting you to be there for him. Especially now. Don’t you dare let him down _now_.”

Something in Scott’s words rings true, but Derek can barely process it over the noise in his head screaming that this is all his fault and he needs to be far away from Stiles. Always. To fucking protect him. 

“What he needs,” Derek says, “is to stay alive. What if the next time I distract him he doesn’t? Huh?”

Scott just looks at him, resignation all over his face. “I don’t know, Derek. Maybe you guys should never have gotten together at all, who the fuck knows. But I do know that it’s a little too late to run away from him now. He trusts you. That doesn’t come easily, okay? He’s lost everybody he ever cared about, except me, and if he took a chance on you and you do the same fucking thing to him, I swear to god I will kill you.”

Derek believes him. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if Scott does kill him, because the only thing he cares about right now is keeping Stiles safe.

*****

Derek’s heart seizes at the look on Stiles’ face when he walks into his little hospital room. He’s smiling at Derek with what looks like a combination of relief, gratitude and embarrassment.

“Hey, big guy,” he murmurs. “Glad you’re here.”

Derek swallows past the rock in his throat and nods, tries to keep his face blank. He draws closer to Stiles’ bedside, but stays down by his feet.

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice is small. “Don’t be mad. I know you hate what I do, but it’s not bad, it really isn’t.”

Derek stands there, trying to gather himself enough to say what he knows he needs to say.

“Derek, say something. You’re freaking me out.” Stiles reaches out one of his hands and then lets it drop when Derek doesn’t move. Derek hates how uncertain Stiles looks. That he doubts how Derek feels, when this morning they were snug in the contentment of whatever their connection is. He hates everything about this situation right now.

“This is my fault,” Derek gets out, with difficulty. He looks Stiles in the eye, but it takes effort.

“No,” Stiles says firmly, frowning. “Not at all. Accidents are part of climbing. I had plenty before I even met you.”

“You’re telling me your mind wasn’t somewhere else today? Because I know mine sure as shit wasn’t thinking about much beyond last night,” he spits out in a way that makes Stiles flinch.

“Hey-”

“No. No. Listen. You have too much riding on this. I can’t put you in danger. Unless.”

“Unless?”

“Unless you’re willing to scrap this ridiculous Wolf’s Peak climb.”

Stiles’ face transforms into something murderous. “Do not even fucking tell me you are giving me an ultimatum right now. You want me to choose between you and the climb I’ve been working toward my entire career?”

“Yes.” Derek knows it’s ridiculous, he hates himself for acting this way. But he can’t help it.

“Sorry,” Stiles says coldly, no longer looking at Derek. “If you want to dump me I’m not going to do it for you by playing your little game. You have to do it yourself. You have to stand there and tell me that, in addition to not supporting my dreams, which I guess I could accept even though it fucking sucks, you’re too scared to be with me because I might get hurt and leave you and then where would you be?”

“No,” Derek says too loudly. “That’s not it. This isn’t about me. This is about keeping you safe. I’m a distraction.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“No. It isn’t. Trust me. The last person I...cared about is dead because of me. Okay? I’m a fucking bad luck charm.”

Stiles’ expression softens and he rest back against his pillow. “The reason you don’t date.”

Derek nods.

“Are you going to tell me about it?”

“No, I...I can’t do that right now. Just please trust me. This is for the best.”

“Derek,” Stiles says gently, showing a kind of bravery Derek knows he’ll never be capable of, “it’s okay to be scared. But please don’t throw us away because of it. I really care about you. And I want you by my side as I’m doing this. I need you. Please don’t bail on me. I really need you not to bail on me.” Tears well up in the corners of his eyes and he brushes them away roughly.

“The Park Service asked me to transfer to Glacier Bay, in Alaska, a few weeks ago. I’m going to take it.” Derek feels his own tears coming; it’s time to leave. “I’m sorry,” he gets out, before turning and leaving. 

How can doing the right thing feel so unbelievably terrible?


	9. Chapter 9

Derek knows his mother probably wasn’t expecting to find him as she does: grossly unshaven, a little smelly, dark hollows under his eyes. He welcomes her into his cabin wearing a bathrobe over sweatpants, his uniform for the past five days.

“Sweetie?” she asks, eyes full of alarm. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong? Are you sick?”

Derek hadn’t known how to warn his mom about his current state, given that he hadn’t even worked up the courage to tell her about Stiles existing yet. He had planned to tell her, introduce them, and let Stiles’ ebullient charm pave the way from there.

Now he’s back to zero (in so many ways), and can’t offer more than a pained shrug. He wants to tell her, he will tell her; he just doesn’t know where to start.

Talia moves briskly into nurturer mode. “Okay,” she says, setting down her bags. “I’m making tea. You need a shower. Go do that, and put on some real clothes, and I’ll be here waiting. We can talk if you want to, or I can blather on about Beacon Hills, your choice. But you need to shake this pallor off before we can get anywhere.”

Derek feels grateful, for the millionth time in his life, to have a woman of such strength of purpose for a mother. She understands he is not like her; he needs a nudge. Or a shove. He shuffles off to the shower, feeling a little bit human for the first time since he left Stiles at the hospital.

******

“So,” Talia says, taking in Derek’s new outfit of corduroys and wool sweater approvingly as he settles next to her on the couch. “What’s got my baby so blue?”

Derek sighs and accepts the mug of tea she hands him, cradling it and soaking up the warmth.

“I don’t really know how to talk about it.”

“Hon,” she says gently, “do you ever?”

Derek snorts. “That’s fair, I guess.”

“Is it work? Is the job wearing you down? I know how hard they run you, and it can’t be easy living out here alone like this.” She squeezes his knee and fixes him with a look so loving he wishes he could just curl up in her lap and cry.

“No,” he says softly.

“Is it...are you feeling upset about Paige? Even if it’s been a while, trauma can have lingering effects for a very long time.”

Derek doesn’t know how to answer that. Paige isn’t the one haunting his every waking thought, but it’s because of what happened to her that he had to let go of Stiles. 

Talia takes his silence as an affirmative. “Der. Baby. I thought you finally understood that her death wasn’t your fault.” She scoots closer to him and wraps her arm around his shoulders.

Derek snuggles into his mother, gratefully breathing in her familiar scent. He feels safe right now, for the first time in a while, and he wants to savor it.

“Mom, can we...can we not talk about this right now? I promise we will...I just. I really can’t right now.”

She shushes him and smoothes his hair, pulling him closer. “Yes, my baby,” she soothes.

Sometimes it feels so good to pretend that he’s just a kid again, that life presents no dangers his mom can’t protect him from. That love is just as natural and guaranteed as breathing, and not some precarious thing that can, and will, destroy him.

*****

Derek and his mom spend the next couple of days in a quiet, comfortable rhythm; he shows her parts of the parks she hasn’t seen yet, she cooks him his favorite dinner (meatloaf), and they sit quietly together in the cabin, Derek reading while Talia answers emails and grades papers by the students in the psychology classes she teaches at Beacon Hills College.

One afternoon she breaks the stillness, apparently having decided she’d given Derek enough space. “So I take it you’ve been seeing someone.” She says it lightly, without even looking up from her laptop.

Derek sighs and closes his paperback. He knows he can’t dodge this, but doesn’t really want to either.

“I was.”

She looks at him and her eyes warm with sympathy. “What was this person like?”

Derek laughs at the impossibility of adequately describing Stiles to someone who’s never met him. “He’s...incredibly alive.” He smiles at the thought.

Talia nods. “How so?”

“He isn’t afraid of anything...he just puts himself out there, all the time. He’s not all closed off.” _Like me_, he doesn’t need to add.

“Sounds pretty appealing.” Her tone is careful, neutral, as always when they discuss something serious.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Talia watches her son for a moment. She says, “Did you end things because of what happened with Paige?”

“In a way,” he says, playing with the edges of his book cover. “But also because his fearlessness...it’s not always a good thing.”

Talia waits, looking encouraging. She knows it’s best to let Derek direct the conversation.

“He’s a climber, a rock climber. And he climbs without ropes, or anything, and it’s very, very dangerous.”

“Ah,” Talia says.

“And he won’t stop.”

“You asked him?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“Yes.”

“He must mean a lot to you.”

Derek exhales heavily and rubs his forehead. “It doesn’t matter, though. Climbing is more important to him than anything else.” _More important than me_, he thinks bitterly.

“Well, I doubt that’s true.”

Derek looks at her like she’s clueless.

“Der, baby, people don’t take all the elements of their lives and spread them out on a table and rank them by importance. A lot of things can’t be compared. I don’t think this person puts his feelings about you and his feelings about climbing in the same space in his brain. Or his heart.”

“But I made him choose,” Derek whispers, watching the floor.

“That’s understandable,” she says, moving closer to him. “Your relationship and his career might not be comparable, but they do intersect. It’s perfectly legitimate for you to set a boundary against someone you care about doing something reckless. If he needs to do something you can’t tolerate, you did the right thing by walking away. If you stayed and needled him and tried to use guilt or something else to force his hand, that would be wrong.”

“It really sucks, Mom,” he says, fighting back tears.

“Do you feel better, having set the boundary?” she asks gently, rubbing his shoulders.

“That’s the thing. I...I don’t.”

She hugs him closer.

“I just miss him. And I feel like shit for hurting him. And I hate that he could die out there, thinking I didn’t care enough about him to stand by him.”

“There are no right answers here, my love.” She smoothes a wisp of his hair back and he melts into her touch. “You’re not wrong to tell him you won’t stand by and watch him risk his life. And you wouldn’t be wrong to take the risk of losing him in order to have as much time with him as you can, either.”

“If there’s no right answer, how do I know what to do?”

Talia smiles and kisses his temple. “You just do.”

*****

Talia’s visit lasts a few more days. They don’t talk about Stiles again, but just having his mom around helps Derek work though his thoughts without getting sucked into panic or depression. Her presence buoys him that much, and for the first time in years he wishes he lived closer to his family again.

But he agrees to go to Alaska, even further away from them, and from Stiles. The NPS tells him they’ll transfer him in the late spring to make his transition to the extreme climate a little easier. He reads up about Alaska, and Glacier Bay, and feels stirrings of excitement for a new adventure, even if it feels wrong, somehow, to leave. When the guilt about running away hits hard, he pushes the whole thing to the back of his mind and goes for a hike, or drops by Isaac’s for a beer. They hang out all the time now.

Derek knows that Stiles’ injuries will take a while to heal and he takes comfort in knowing he won’t run into him at the park any time soon. Or Scott. While he doesn’t hold Scott’s protectiveness against him, at all, he doesn’t relish the idea of facing the guy after doing exactly what Scott begged him not to do.

Isaac still sees Scott when he’s not working, and probably Stiles, too. Derek doesn’t ask and Isaac doesn’t bring it up. Until one evening, a couple months after Stiles’ injury, when they’re sitting on the balcony of Isaac’s room drinking spiked hot cider and watching the stars.

“He misses you,” Isaac says out of nowhere, without looking at Derek.

Derek grunts and takes a big swig of cider to avoid having to respond.

“Are you really gonna go to Alaska?”

“I don’t have a reason not to go. No offense,” he adds quickly at Isaac’s hurt expression. “I just mean it’s a cool opportunity that won’t come around again, and I don’t have a compelling enough reason to turn it down.”

Isaac frowns. “Don’t you?”

“Look,” Derek sighs. “He’s not going to stop doing what he’s doing and I’m not going to be suddenly okay with him risking himself like that. So, even if it sucks, it is what it is.”

“So you admit it sucks.”

“Of course!” Derek practically yells at Isaac. “Are you kidding me? I hate this! I hate that he’s the first person I’ve cared about in a million fucking years and I had to walk away from him.” He slurps his cider again. “It’s killing me.”

“Damn, that was emotive,” Isaac says, impressed.

Derek rolls his eyes and shoves Isaac lightly. “Well, hopefully now you get it, and we can never talk about this ever again.”

“Hmmm,” Isaac says. “Don’t think so.”

“What?”

“I’m just stuck on the part where you’re crazy about him. And I know he’s crazy about you. And it seems like a pretty epic waste to throw that away.”

Derek scoffs. “So you think I should put his safety in danger because we like each other?” He shakes his head.

“I think that’s a cop-out, Derek. If you don’t want to be with him because you’re afraid of how you’ll feel if you lose him, that’s one thing. But don’t do it because you think you’re protecting him. If he dies out there, it won’t have anything to do with you, one way or another.”

“You think I broke up with him to protect myself?” Derek grunts in annoyance. “Stiles said the same thing.”

Isaac shrugs. “I don’t think he’s wrong. But I also don’t blame you. Just...you gotta decide whether giving him up is honestly the best choice.”

Derek and Isaac sit in silence for a while, draining their mugs. Eventually Derek speaks. 

“It’s too late, anyway.”

“Is it?” Isaac asks.

“And it’s too close to the climb. I can’t even think about messing with him like that right before the climb.”

Isaac nods. “That might be true, I guess.”

“Er,” Derek scratches his head. “When is the climb, exactly?”

“In two weeks. Want more cider?” Isaac grabs their empty mugs to take inside.

Derek shakes his head. “Are you gonna be there?”

Isaac nods. “With Scott. Dude’s gonna be a wreck.”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

Isaac walks inside. Derek hears him rinsing out the mugs. When he comes back outside he just hangs in the open doorframe.

“If you keep your radio on, I can keep you posted. During.”

Derek fixes him with a grateful look. “Thank you.” Then he remembers something. “Won’t Scott be pissed?”

Isaac shrugs. “This isn’t about Scott.”

“Maybe...I should talk to him, anyway.” Scott is all the family Stiles has and he doesn’t want them to remain on such bad terms.

“Want his number?” Isaac asks.

“No. But give it to me anyway.” He gives Isaac a weary smile. This isn’t going to be fun.

*****

Derek hems and haws and eventually calls Scott a few days later. The sound of Scott’s cheerful greeting makes him feel even more tense, since he knows how fast it will fade when he realizes who’s calling.

“Scott, it’s me. Derek.”

Scott honestly growls on the other end. “What do you want?” He practically spits it out, and Derek flinches.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Why?”

Derek sighs and leans back in his chair. “I want to talk to you about Stiles.”

“I think you lost the right to talk about Stiles. He’s moved on, forget about him.”

That hurts. “Scott, please.”

The way Scott sighs in frustration makes Derek think that maybe Scott wasn’t being totally truthful about Stiles moving on. He hopes so, anyway. The thought cuts him more deeply than he would have imagined.

“Look, I understand why you’re pissed at me. I would be, too, if I were in your shoes.”

Scott grunts.

“But that doesn’t mean it was wrong of me to be worried about Stiles’ safety.”

“It isn’t up to you,” Scott says angrily. “Just like it isn’t up to me. Don’t you think I wish it were?”

“I know.”

“Do you? Do you really? Can you imagine what it’s like to have your best friend, your brother, constantly putting himself in harm’s way and not giving a shit what anybody around him has to say about it? Do you know how many _years_ I have been doing this?”

Derek takes a deep breath. “He’s lucky to have you. And you’re a lot stronger than I am.”

This time Scott’s grunt is a little softer.

“Look, I did what I thought was best. But it doesn’t feel right. I miss him. And I care about him too much to have him thinking I don’t. So if I have to make peace with this insane shit he does, I will. You have.”

“Derek,” Scott warns. “Don’t do this unless you can commit to it. If you try to get him back, and if he accepts - which is a big fucking if, I should tell you - you can’t change your mind the next time he decides to take on some crazy climb. You have to really accept that this is part of him. Like I have.”

“I know.”

“And, to be honest.” Scott sighs. “I understand if you can’t. It’s really fucking hard. So, just...just think about it and be sure, okay?”

“Yeah.” 

“And stay away from him until after the climb. He’s finally managed to stuff away his feelings for you and now is not the time to rile him up. He needs to focus.”

“I agree,” Derek says.

“Don’t fuck this up, Hale,” Scott says. He sounds angry, and sad, and a little hopeful.

“I probably will,” Derek says ruefully.

“Do you love him?”

Derek’s heart thuds. He hasn’t admitted this to anyone, maybe not even to himself.

“Yeah, Scott. I do.”

“Then you won’t fuck it up. Probably. But I’ll kill you if you do.”

Derek smiles, feeling lighter just from admitting he loves Stiles. 

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I totally head-canon Derek as a MAJOR mama's boy. Fight me.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this is late and I’m sorry it’s kind of brutal...don’t kill me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for trigger warning.

Derek knows he won’t be able to sleep the night before Stiles’ climb. He doesn’t even try, choosing instead to make an extra-big fire and nestle into a pile of afghans on his little couch. He tries to read but can’t focus, and is flicking through Netflix options hopelessly when there’s a knock at his door. He looks at the clock; who would be visiting after midnight?

Scott’s sheepish grin greets him on the other side of his front door. He raises a bottle of whiskey and Derek nods, moving aside to let him in.

“I figured I’d find you awake,” Scott says as he removes his parka and sets down the bottle of whiskey. “And that if I did find you sleeping peacefully, I’d know you aren’t good enough for Stiles because who the fuck could sleep when he’s about to do this, you know?”

Derek nods, not even offended by Scott’s little test. “Yup,” is all he says.

“Glasses?” Scott asks as he walks into the kitchen.

Derek sits back down on the sofa. “Over the sink.”

Scott returns with two mismatched jelly jars and the alcohol. Without asking Derek how much he wants, he pours their glasses nearly full. He hands one to Derek, then proposes a toast.

“To that bastard not dying.”

Derek chuckles; he’s already feeling more at ease than he was before Scott showed up. It helps to share this with someone else.

“I will definitely drink to that,” he says, tipping back a few hearty swallows. He gasps and wheezes.

“What the fuck is this shit?” Derek shudders and considers wiping off his tongue.

Scott beams. “The cheapest whiskey they sell at the 24-hour convenience store in Lacey!”

“It’s disgusting.”

“Does it matter? Do you think I came over for a fine whiskey tasting?”

Derek sighs and takes another sip. “No. It doesn’t matter.”

The two men sit in silence, watching the fire and drinking, each gradually relaxing as their heads get fuzzier and their limbs get looser.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this before,” Derek says finally.

“I can’t really, either,” Scott says. He chuckles, a little bitterly. “I actually thought I might never have to do it again, after the last time.”

“When was that?”

“Two years ago. In Wyoming. It was his riskiest climb, before this. There was so much build up and he kept promising that finishing that climb would be enough, would scratch that itch.” He sighs and takes a long drink. “But of course it didn’t. Nothing ever will. After this, he’ll find something even crazier.”

Derek ponders that for a moment. “What, exactly, is the itch? Why does he do this at all?” It’s something he’d tried to ask Stiles before, but had never gotten a real answer.

Scott runs his finger around the rim of his glass. “Well...I’m not entirely sure. I know what he’s told me, and some of that is probably bullshit. And I know what I suspect, but I’m probably at least a little bit wrong. It’s possible that nobody actually knows, including Stiles himself.”

Derek nods, not looking away from the fire. “Tell me what you think it is.”

“Well,” Scott starts slowly. “Honestly, I think it’s about control. He hasn’t been able to control anything major in his life, things that normally go one way for most people go the other for him.”

“Like his parents dying.”

“Right.” Scott nods. “He learned pretty young that he’s, like, the universe’s bitch, you know? It’s all chaos. And unfair and random. So he tries to orchestrate ways to exert control where other people couldn’t. Scaling a mountain with his bare hands and surviving is sort of his ‘fuck you’ to a world he can’t control.” Scott shrugs to himself and drinks.

“That makes sense, actually.”

Scott barks out a laugh. “Not to me it doesn’t! He’s still at the mercy of a million things he can’t control. And if he dies, what then? It’s fucking stupid.” Scott scowls at the fire. “One of our climber friends died last year and I really thought it would wake him up. But it didn’t. He just assumes he’ll be luckier.”

“Maybe he will be.”

Scott meets Derek’s eyes. “I guess all we can do is drink to that.” He clinks his glass against Derek’s and then drains it.

“Whose idea was the movie?” Derek asks.

“Mine, actually. But I regret selling him on the idea. I worry that it adds a level of pressure he doesn’t need. That he might go out there tomorrow even if he’s not feeling it because he knows the whole crew will be set up and waiting.”

Derek consider this. “That doesn’t really sound like Stiles. And if he really wanted to do it without the cameras on him, wouldn’t he just have gone and done it one day and not told anybody?”

Scott sighs. “Probably. But I would have preferred that. I wouldn’t be sitting here wondering if that hug I gave him two hours ago is the last hug I’ll ever give him. I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to mentally prepare for his death. He’s 28 and healthy, I should not have to be having these thoughts at all.”

“Yeah,” Derek says softly. He feels the same way. “I guess...I guess I just don’t understand. At all.”

“Me neither, man,” Scott says. “But I guess we don’t have to. We just have to be there for him.” He gives Derek a hard look.

Derek nods. “I know.” He stands up to collect some blankets for Scott. “I assume you want to crash here?”

“If that’s cool? I have to be out there in a few hours to set up.”

“Can I go with you?”

“Like you have a choice,” Scott scoffs as he accepts the proffered blankets from Derek. 

Derek gives him a thin smile and heads to his own bed. “Try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, right,” says Scott, but he’s snoring within minutes.

*****

By sunrise, all the cameras (on the ground, at the summit, and half a dozen drones) are rolling and Stiles has begun his ascent. Derek learns this when one of the other cameramen, who has visibility of the starting point, radios to Scott to let him know. They can’t see him from where they are and won’t be able to until he’s a decent distance up the rock.

Derek tried to offer Scott some coffee in the morning, but he’d refused like Derek had offered him cat vomit. He told Derek he was edgy enough, which Derek understands now. His own pulse feels like a machine gun going off and he’s sweating in the 40-degree air. He’s seriously considering stripping down to his undershirt, wondering if it will make it any easier to breathe. Probably not.

Derek and Scott, and the other two crew members with them, don’t talk. They listen to their radios and stand stock-still, waiting until they can catch sight of Stiles. Eventually, they do; his bright red shirt appears against the pale gray of the granite as he reaches their sightline. He appears much larger on the view screen of Scott’s camera and they all huddle around it, fixated.

Everyone on the crew, and even Derek by now, knows the tricky spots on this climb, the spots that could spell death unless absolutely everything goes absolutely perfectly. Derek knows that Stiles prepared for these with extra diligence, literally memorizing his extensive notes about where to put his feet and hands in sequence. But still. Anything could go wrong.

Their whole group holds their breath as he approaches the first troublesome area, then collectively exhales when he passes through it easily. Scott and one of the crew members high-five each other and hug.

Derek wishes they could see and hear what the drones, just a few feet from Stiles, can see and hear. He wants to hear Stiles’ steady, heavy breathing, watch the flex of his chalky fingers and agile feet. If these end up being Stiles’ final moments, he wants something to commit to memory.

Scott grows increasingly more frantic as the climb goes on. He paces back and forth in front of the camera and reacts more with desperate relief than joy every time Stiles passes a hard point. By the time he reaches the last, and most difficult, obstacle, Scott can’t even look at the screen. Derek and the crew members do and Scott mutters that he can’t believe them.

But Derek feels like he owes it to Stiles. After everything he put them through, he owes it to him to bear witness to this thing he’s doing, this thing that means so much to him, that he’s determined to do even if it literally kills him. Derek doesn’t get to back away.

It’s hard for their group, on the ground, to get a true sense of when Stiles has passed through the danger zones, so the drone operators keep them updated via radio. When they get the message that Stiles has made it through the final challenge just fine, Scott starts to sob. The other cameraman says that Stiles is grinning into the drone and having the best day of his life, and Scott snaps, “Well, I’m not!” Derek laughs and grips Scott’s shoulder, squeezing it. 

They can see him ascending the last few hundred feet with ease, and a round of cheers goes up when he clambers over and onto the top of the mountain. He’s holding up his arms in triumph and Derek feels overwhelmed by a million different emotions.

Someone hands Stiles a radio, apparently, because he’s shouting at Scott as soon as he’s caught his breath.

“Scotty! I did it!”

Scott is laughing and wiping away tears and congratulating his friend. It’s hard to even understand what they’re saying and Derek’s heart clenches at the intimacy of the moment. He wants to be the one having this moment with Stiles and he knows it’s his own fault that he isn’t. He desperately wants to rip the radio from Scott’s hand and blabber all of his feelings to Stiles, but he knows this isn’t the time. This is not Derek’s moment.

“God job not plummeting to your death, man,” laughs Scott. “Please don’t ever fucking do this to me again.”

Derek doesn’t hear Stiles’ response as he turns and walks back to his cabin alone.

*****

It took Stiles over four hours to climb the face of Wolf’s Peak, so it will take even longer to hike back down like a normal person. That means Stiles won’t be back at his van until late afternoon at the earliest, and he probably has plans to go out celebrating after that. As badly as Derek wants to talk to him, he knows he has to do this in a way that doesn’t make Stiles’ big day all about Derek. So he decides to wait until tomorrow to go see him.

But by 10 p.m. he’s been tossing and turning in his bed for an hour and thinks he can’t possibly fall asleep, despite sleeping not at all the night before, until he tells Stiles what he needs to tell him. He wants to wait, but he can’t.

Besides, if Stiles is out partying, he just won’t be at home, so no harm done, right?

That’s how Derek justifies knocking meekly on Stiles’ van door fifteen minutes later, his thickest coat thrown over his sleep clothes, his hair a hot mess.

A half-asleep Stiles wakes all the way up when he sees Derek on the other side of his door. He looks too shocked to speak.

“I’m so sorry,” Derek says, “I should have known you were sleeping, you must be exhausted, I’ll come back tomorrow.” 

Stiles frowns. “I’m awake now. It’s okay. But why are you here?”

Derek doesn’t know where to begin. “Can I come in?”

Stiles crosses his arms and his expression hardens. “Why. Are. You. Here.” He doesn’t move to unblock the entrance.

Derek sighs and rubs his forehead. “I came to apologize. And explain. And to congratulate you. But mostly to tell you what a fuck-up I am.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Well, I can hardly argue with that.” He steps back into the van and climbs back into his futon, wrapping the comforter around himself. Once Derek is inside and the door is shut, Stiles says, “Go ahead.” He does not make room on the bed for Derek to sit next to him.

Derek settles into the only other chair in the living area of the van. “Thanks for letting me in.”

“I only agreed to let you talk,” Stiles says coolly.

“You were amazing today. Incredible, really.”

Stiles’ expression softens for a second before hardening again. “How do you know? Just because I survived and you didn’t expect me to?”

Derek chuckles. “I was with Scott the entire time. I saw you on the camera, and heard all the radio calls Scott got. It was...well, you know how it was.”

Stiles smiles very softly and briefly. “Yeah.”

“How does it feel?”

“Honestly? Best feeling of my life. I fulfilled a dream I’ve had since I was a teenager. And I didn’t compromise on any of the things that were super important to me.” He says the last part with a bit of a bite, and Derek knows it’s directed at him.

Derek nods. “I know. And...despite whatever I said before, I’m really proud of you.”

Stiles takes a deep and slightly shaky breath. “Thanks.”

“I wanted to apologize for asking you to stop. It wasn’t my place to do that. I shouldn’t have asked you to give up on your dream for me.”

Stiles nods. “You’re right. Because I couldn’t do that, not even for you.”

Derek ignores the jolt of hope those last few words give him.

“Can I maybe explain why I was such a hardass about it?”

“I guess,” Stiles shrugs.

Derek looks down at his hands. “This isn’t something I talk about. Ever. Very few people even know the story. But I think you deserve to know.

“When I was in college, I had a girlfriend I really loved, Paige. We were together the whole four years and we were sure we’d be together forever. It was just really right between us. She was so kind, and smart, and funny. A lot like you, actually.”

Stiles smiles but keeps his eyes on his lap.

“Anyway, Paige was from Manhattan, so she’d never learned how to drive. And we were at a college in a small town and you had to drive to get to anything, even a party on another part of campus. She kept saying she needed to learn and I kept telling her she didn’t, because I could drive her anywhere she needed to go.

“And that’s what I did. I drove her whenever she needed a ride. It’s not like there were really cabs we could call in the middle of nowhere, and this was before Uber. If I was in class or something and she needed a ride, she’d catch one with a friend, but I really saw it as my responsibility.”

“How caveman of you,” Stiles observes.

Derek nods and keeps going. “One night we were at a party and she wanted to leave early because she had a headache. I hadn’t planned on being sober enough to drive until later in the evening, so I was pretty buzzed. She could tell, too, and said she would just walk back.”

Derek stops to rub his eyes and take a deep breath.

“I told her it wasn’t safe to walk back alone at night. I asked her to wait just a little bit and I’d be good to drive. She wasn’t happy about it, but she agreed. And I pretended like I was more sober than I was because I didn’t want her to worry. And it wasn’t like it was a long or complicated drive, anyway. Just a straight shot down a country road.”

“Derek,” Stiles whispers.

“We were almost home and...and, fuck.” Derek stops.

“You don’t have to finish, Derek, I think I get it.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I have to tell you everything. We hit a deer. I should have seen it coming, but I was so focused on the road ahead because I was over-compensating for being drunk and I didn’t notice anything else. I didn’t see the deer until we were slamming into it.” Derek’s voice shakes and his eyes water.

“Paige went through the windshield and she died. She suffered for a while, then she died.” Derek drops his head into his hands. “And I was fine.”

Stiles rises from his bed and shrugs off the comforter. He comes over to Derek and wraps himself around his shoulders, hugging him tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Do you see?” Derek chokes out. “She trusted me. I made it my job to keep her safe and she trusted me to do it and I failed and she died.”

“Derek.” Stiles sits back on his haunches next to Derek’s chair. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“You fucked up, you made a mistake. But you didn’t, like, fail some sacred duty. You weren’t her keeper and she made her own choices, too.”

“She trusted me,” Derek grits out, not looking at Stiles.

“Of course she did. Because you are a very solid, honest, dependable person. You would have never hurt her deliberately. You wouldn’t even have driven her home if you thought you couldn’t manage it, right?”

“I was obviously wrong.”

“Well, okay. But it was also some seriously terrible luck that a deer jumped onto the road at the worst possible second. In a perfect world you would have been stone cold sober and seen it coming, but how do you even know you would have?”

Derek says nothing.

“You’re still someone to be trusted, Derek. You will still do everything you can to keep the people you care about safe.”

“I love you, Stiles.”

Stiles leans back. “What?” he whispers.

Derek laughs nervously. “Sorry. Not, uh, how I planned to tell you that. But...it’s true. And I need you to know. I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”

“Derek.” Stiles closes his eyes and sighs.

“I understand if you don’t love me back, I wouldn’t blame you-”

“Oh, shut up, you idiot! Of course I fucking love you!” Stiles sounds exasperated. And angry.

“Oh...okay? That’s...good, right?” Derek asks hopefully.

Stiles gets up and goes back over to the bed. He sits on the edge and watches the floor. “It doesn’t change anything,” he says.

Derek feels a tight, cold squeeze around his heart. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Stiles says angrily, “that you dropped me at the first second of trouble without a moment’s hesitation, when I believed that you were there for me.”

“But I just explained why, Stiles! And I’m over it, I can accept what you do, if it means I can be with you. I can handle this.”

“That’s great,” Stiles says sarcastically. “But how do you think the last few weeks were for me? They were fucking hell. I needed you then. So you don’t just get to show up here and look all sweet in your PJs and tell me about your tragic past and expect me to welcome you with open arms!”

“Stiles,” Derek pleads.

“No,” Stiles says, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Please don’t. Please don’t make this harder. I do love you, but you did the one thing I was most afraid you would do - you left me. And I can’t trust you not to do it again.”

“I swear to you-”

“Stop!” Stiles practically yells. “Please! Please, please stop. Go to Alaska. Leave me alone. Use this to learn and grow and not fuck up the next time somebody gives you their heart, okay? But you missed your chance with me.”

Derek nods and stands. He feels like his insides are being torn apart and his head is on fire, but he can put on a brave face for Stiles, who doesn’t deserve to feel any worse than he already does.

“Okay,” he says as he goes for the door. “Okay.”

Before he slides the door shut again, he catches Stiles’ eye. He needs that one last glimpse, probably the last he’ll ever have.

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

When he walks away, he feels like he’s leaving his heart behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek describes his ex-girlfriend dying in a drunk-driving crash.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue left, folks! Tell me what you want to see - a few months from this chapter, a few years? Should it be smutty? Let me know!

At first Derek decides he won’t go to Alaska because he needs to stay close to Stiles if he’s going to win him back. But everyone in his life - Boyd, his mom, Isaac, even Scott - tells him he needs to give Stiles space and focus on himself right now. Derek doesn’t want to focus on himself when all he can think about is Stiles, but he supposes he can’t force the man to be with him.

Going to Alaska just seems so final. Like he’s admitting that this thing is over between him and Stiles, which seems like a real waste. Derek knows that if Stiles gave him a shot, they could have something incredible.

But that’s the thing: Stiles has to be the one to give Derek a shot. It’s Stiles’ choice, and it seems like he’s made up his mind. Derek owes it to him to respect his decision.

At least in Alaska, Derek tells himself, he won’t think of Stiles every time he looks out his front door. (Probably.)

*****

No roads lead to Glacier Bay National Park; only boats and planes can get in. Park rangers primarily lead guests on boat tours from the nearest town (which is even smaller than Lacey) to the park, or up through the waterways to glide through the glaciers. Derek pretty much spends all of his time on the water, a big change from his last job. He almost misses scraping up dead squirrels from the pavement because at least pavement doesn’t move. Constantly.

But it’s not so bad, actually. The scenery takes Derek’s breath away every time he looks up from whatever he’s doing on the boat. He likes his fellow rangers, too. There’s an older guy named Alan who positively radiates placid calm, to a degree just shy of other-wordly, and a chipper young guy named Liam who is never not smiling and wide-eyed. Sometimes Derek gets drinks with them after work in the town, Gustavus, before heading to the little apartment he’s renting above a sporting supply store. He could have lived in the park, like he did at Bear Valley, but he’s making a concerted effort not to isolate himself.

And he struggles with that. Isolation and solitude tempt him sorely, especially when he thinks about lying next to Stiles, their fingers and legs intertwined, hearts beating fast while their lips move together, and it feels like a stab to the chest. He hurts when he thinks about Stiles, and misses him so badly that it feels like a disease.

Scott updates him from time to time; somehow the two of them became allies in all of this, if not friends. Apparently Stiles is, indeed, gearing up for the next big daredevil climb, this time somewhere in the Rockies. Scott doesn’t offer details and Derek doesn’t ask. Derek just asks Scott to tell him when it’s all over, no matter what happens. Scott replies with a heart emoji, and a few hours later says that he can tell Stiles is suffering, too. Derek thinks through a few different responses, even ponders passing a message through Scott, but decides against it. He has to move on.

*****

Which is how Derek Hale finds himself on a Tinder date on a Tuesday evening in a one-room bar with multiple moose heads on the wall. He mutters a pep talk to himself as he enters the place, simultaneously cursing Laura for talking him into this. She told him Stiles had made his choice and Derek needed to respect it and move on, and for some reason he can no longer remember, he agreed.

Derek spots his date right away: a gorgeous black woman named Braeden with a severe expression and some weirdly intriguing scars along the side of her neck. He’d liked how no-nonsense her profile was because he is absolutely sure he is not up to playing games with anybody, although a little straightforward companionship wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Derek?” she asks from her seat at the bar, scowl melting into a bright smile. She’s dressed tough, like a biker, and he likes it. He nods and smiles back and joins her, asking the bartender for a beer.

“I would ask if you’re new in town,” Braeden says, “but I already know the answer, seeing as this town has 400 people and I’ve lived here for three years. I know everyone. Literally every person.” She clinks her glass against his once he gets it and they drink.

“So, welcome,” she says, winking.

Derek laughs. “Thank you. It’s definitely an adjustment. But...I’m liking it. More than I expected.”

“What brought you here?” she asks, her eyes tracking his upper body appreciatively as he removes his coat and drapes it over the back of his barstool.

Derek shrugs. “They had a need at Glacier Bay, I was already a ranger for the NPS, transfers are pretty common.”

“You couldn’t have transferred somewhere that wasn’t this far away from wherever you were last?”

“Maybe. But they reached out, and it seemed like a good opportunity.”

Braeden rolls her eyes. “Uh huh. Now tell me why you really came all the way up here.”

Derek busies himself with his beer, not sure what to say. Although he doesn’t want to play games, he’s also not really ready to pour out his soul to a stranger. And anything he might say about Stiles feels so...personal.

In the end he decides to go with: “Relationship stuff.”

“Ah,” she nods, satisfied. “Got it.”

_I don’t_, Derek thinks bitterly before reminding himself to keep his face pleasant and neutral. Braeden’s too quick, though; she sees the mask slip.

“Relationship stuff that is not over and done with, I’m guessing.”

Derek looks down at the surface of the bar, unsure how to respond. Luckily, Braeden laughs and rests her hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, ignore me. I can be a little intense.”

Derek smiles. “Intense is okay,” he says, “as long as it’s also okay that I’m really not.”

“Hmmmm,” she says, looking at him appraisingly. “I have a feeling you’re more intense than you let on.”

Derek shifts on his stool, definitely uncomfortable now. Why did he think this was a good idea? This woman might be beautiful and confident and probably very compelling for any other person in his shoes right now, but this whole thing is just making him ache for Stiles more. 

“That wasn’t a come on,” Braeden says, one eyebrow cocked. “It’s pretty clear you’re not on the market.”

Derek wants to protest because he thinks it would be polite to do so, but he also doesn’t want to be fake with this person who is being so very not fake with him. It wouldn’t be fair.

“So the real question,” Braden goes on, “is what’s keeping you from moving on, if being this far away didn’t do it.”

Derek waves to the bartender with his empty glass to signal he’d like another. He’s quiet for a minute before he responds.

“I’m pretty sure he’s the love of my life,” he says. “It’s hard to move on from that.”

Braeden winces sympathetically and squeezes Derek’s arm. The gesture feels friendly, not flirtatious.

“Does he know that?” she asks.

Derek accepts his new beer with a nod and runs his finger around the rim. “I think so. I think I made that pretty clear.”

Braeden gives Derek a long look. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re so in love with this guy...why are you on Tinder? You don’t seem like the hookup type.”

Derek laughs. “I’m not, you’re right. And...I don’t really know. My sister convinced me to do it, said I needed to get out of my shell. And it’s true, I’ve been really closed off for a long time now.”

Braeden frowns. “Not so closed off you couldn’t fall in love, apparently.”

“Well. He’s the thing that opened me up, I guess.”

“Nah,” Braeden says. “You did that yourself. But he was there when you were ready. And now you might be ready for him, and that’s great, but it doesn’t mean you’re ready to just be all out there.”

Derek smirks. “So I live alone for the rest of my life?”

“I dunno.” Braeden shrugs. “Would that be better or worse than faking it with somebody other than the person you love?”

“I’m sure I could love someone else, too,” Derek frowns. How has this become the most depressing date in history?

“But do you want to?” she asks, looking skeptical.

Derek smiles weakly and drinks his beer. He doesn’t have an answer.

“Look,” Braeden says as she gets up and pulls on her coat. “You’re hot as hell and you seem like a sweet guy. You know how to find me if you decide to give up on lover boy. But try to remember that you don’t have to, no matter what your sister says.”

Derek nods, not saying anything because emotion threatens to take over if he tries. Braeden doesn’t seem offended; she kisses him on the forehead, drops a $20 on the bar, and stalks out, bidding the bartender goodbye.

Even though he knows he shouldn’t, Derek pulls out his phone to text Scott.

_Tell him I said to be careful._

_Tell him I love him. Always._

He trudges back home to his apartment, down the block, feeling heavier and lighter all at the same time. 

There are worse things than being alone. He can open himself up to the world around him without burying his feelings for Stiles and forcing himself to move on before he’s ready. He doesn’t have to do what he did when he lost Paige, even if it would be the easiest thing.

He feels like he owes that much to Stiles, and to himself. And he’ll go to Laura’s wedding this summer, alone, with his head held high.

That’s fucking progress.

*****

Two weeks later, Derek wakes in the middle of the night to a loud whooping sound he can’t identify. He runs through the list of wild animals that frequent this area, but nothing matches up. The whooping starts again and he hobbles from his bed, sheets wrapped around himself, to look out his window. He sees nothing, but realizes the sound is coming from the front of the building, down in front of the shop.

Grumbling and confused, yet unable to resist finding the source of the irritating noise, Derek thunders down the stairs and throws open the door to his building.

To find Stiles, currently taking a big inhale to prepare for another round of whooping.

“Stiles!” Derek hisses quietly. “What the hell are you doing! Keep it down! And what the fuck are you wearing?”

Stiles looks down at his many layers of down insulation and fleece. Basically only his eyes aren’t covered.

“It’s Alaska?” he says.

Derek rolls his eyes. “This part of Alaska has a maritime climate - even in the dead of winter it’s barely below freezing.”

Stiles squawks indignantly. “How was I supposed to know that?”

“I don’t know, check the internet?”

“Are you seriously this much of an asshole?” Stiles asks, but he’s suppressing a smile.

“Wait.” Derek wakes up fully and starts to process the scene. “Wait. You’re here.”

Stiles nods. “I am here. And overdressed, apparently.”

Derek’s brain supplies that Stiles is always overdressed if he’s wearing anything at all, but he manages to say only: “You should come inside.”

Stiles nods. The sliver of his face showing looks nervous. Derek thinks he should feel nervous, too, but maybe he’s just not awake enough yet.

He holds the door to his building open to let Stiles in, then walks around him to lead him up the stairs. They don’t say anything. Derek wants Stiles to lead this conversation.

Once inside Derek’s tiny apartment, Stiles strips off a few layers and tosses them onto the couch. He’s flushed, his hair askew; he looks delicious.

“Nice place,” he says.

Derek shrugs. “It’s okay.”

They look at each other for a while.

“I guess I should have verified that you didn’t have anybody here with you before I just showed up,” Stiles says, glancing at the bedroom.

“You know I don’t, Stiles.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. He looks pleased, but surprised.

“Have you not been with anybody since...since us?”

Derek chuckles. “I did go on a date.” Stiles’ shoulders tense and Derek smiles. “It lasted about five minutes. She could tell right away I wasn’t really on the market.”

Stiles breaks into a huge smile at that and he takes a few careful steps toward Derek. He seems to be struggling to choose his next words. Derek considers asking him why he’s there, but he’s pretty sure he knows why and wants to hear whatever Stiles is going to say.

“Derek,” Stiles says. He sits down on the couch, right on top of his pile of sub-Arctic-weather gear.

“Stiles,” Derek echoes, sitting on the chair across from him.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says quietly.

Derek worries, for the first time, that Stiles only came here for that - to apologize for Derek’s broken heart, to get closure. Derek doesn’t want closure. He wants the opposite of closure.

“Stiles, you don’t have anything to be sorry about. You were right that it was unfair of me to abandon you and then expect you to take me back when I came to my senses.” Derek rubs at his fingers nervously, not looking up at Stiles, too afraid to see anything like pity on his face.

Stiles gets up and walks over to Derek’s chair, squatting on the floor in front of him so that they’re at eye level.

“It was unfair, yes. Thank you for recognizing that. But I don’t think I’m willing to throw this away because you did something unfair. Especially because it was unfair of me to expect you to sit patiently and wait for me to not die every time I went out there.”

Derek lifts his eyes to meet Stiles’. “What?”

Stiles sighs affectionately. “You heard me. You weren’t the only one being selfish in this relationship. Arguably, my selfishness was worse because I just wanted to prove to myself I could do death-defying things. You just didn’t want to see me die. I think that’s forgivable.”

Derek shakes his head, scared to believe this is going where it might be going. “But your climbing...it’s everything to you.”

“No, Derek. It’s not. You and Scott, you guys are everything to me.”

“Stiles, I’m...don’t get me wrong, you’re saying what I want to hear. But this is a total change for you and I’m scared you’ll go back to the way you’ve always felt. What prompted this, now? It can’t be me leaving because I’ve been here for a while now.”

Stiles sighs and leans back against the coffee table behind him. “You don’t think I could have just come to my senses one morning? Hit my limit for how long I could go without you?”

Derek smiles at the thought. “No.”

Stiles kicks him gently in the shin. “Hey. But, yeah. You’re right. I’m not that smart.” He takes a deep breath. “The truth is that I had an accident, and it wasn’t a big deal, but it could have been.

“Scott came and found me at the hospital and the look on his face...Jesus. He looked about a thousand years old. And I realized that I did that to him. He never complains, never asks me to stop...but he used to. When we were younger. I guess he gave up because I was never willing to put anything ahead of my ambition. I kept thinking that I would eventually be satisfied, you know? Especially after Wolf’s Peak. Nobody has ever done a free climb like that! I thought that would be the pinnacle, and I could settle down, and everybody could just chill.

“But it wasn’t enough, obviously. And nothing ever will be. And I’m not an idiot, I know I could actually die, and probably will die if I just keep trying harder and harder shit. And what would my excuse be? That I’m fucked up over my parents dying and therefore don’t need to value my own life?” Stiles shakes his head and rubs at his eyes.

“I saw that look on Scott’s face, and I thought about what you said to me that day after Wolf’s Peak, and I thought about how lucky I was to have a near-miss and not something much worse...and I guess I realized that I’m kind of an asshole.”

Derek laughs and crawls out of his chair to join Stiles on the floor. He sidles up next to him, not touching but almost. He knows Stiles isn’t done talking.

“So even though I’m still pissed at you for the way you handled things with us...I do get it. And I get that it isn’t fair to put the people I love through this. It isn’t worth it. I mean...assuming you do, still?” He looks at Derek, eyes moist. “Love me?”

Derek answers by leaning in slowly and pressing his mouth to Stiles’. He kisses him, dry and innocent, and then rests their foreheads together.

“I think I’m always going to love you, you jerk.”

Stiles starts laughing and crying simultaneously and takes Derek’s face in his hands. “I love you so much, Derek.”

They’re still kissing when the sun comes up.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, it took me over a month to post this! I will miss these boys...

“You two better not be breaking any of my furniture in there!”

“Once, Laura!” Stiles shouts. “That happened once!”

Derek stops sucking on the sensitive spot on Stiles’ neck and heaves a sigh. “We’ll be right out,” he says loudly. Laura mutters something and stomps away.

Derek pecks Stiles’ cheek once and sits up from where they’re sprawled on the bed in Laura’s guest room. “Remind me why we didn’t go to your Uncle Vic’s for Christmas this year?”

“Your idea, buddy,” Stiles says as he finds his shirt on the floor and pulls it back on. “But my uncle would be just as much of a cockblocker, you know this.”

“Yeah.” Derek thinks about the time the man walked in on him blowing Stiles in his laundry room while they were visiting. Derek couldn’t look him in the eye for almost a year after.

“Besides,” Stiles says, handing Derek his own shirt, “you said you wanted to be in Beacon Hills when the baby was born, which could happen any minute. Your second nibling!”

“My what?” 

“You know, niece or nephew - the gender-neutral term is ‘nibling.’ Since we don’t know what Laura’s having.” Stiles hops off the bed and into the adjoining bathroom.

“‘Nibling’ is not a word.” Derek reluctantly puts his shirt on while he watches his husband mess with his hair in the bathroom mirror. “And you look great, stop fussing and let’s go downstairs.”

“Ugh,” Stiles grunts as he swipes at a piece of hair that won’t lie flat. “This hair is your fault.”

Derek smirks. “Then you really shouldn’t bother fixing it, since we’re coming right back up here after we’ve put in a little facetime downstairs.”

“Derek Hale, if you make me sport a boner in front of your family AGAIN I will kill you. They already think I’m a depraved sex fiend.”

“Aren’t you?” Derek lifts an eyebrow.

“Oh, really? You wanna see how chaste I can be?” Stiles demands.

“Not particularly, no.” Derek grins at him.  


“Too bad, so sad. You’ve done this to yourself.” Stiles yanks open the bedroom door and stalks down the hallway, a confused Derek scrambling to catch up.

*****

“So,” Laura says in her ‘I’m the Grownup’ voice at the dinner table that night, “did you guys make a decision yet?” She passes the platter of green beans to Talia, who spoons some onto Laura’s son’s plate. The two-year old Joshua immediately shoves the hot vegetables into his mouth and begins to cry. A tired-looking Jordan comes over to soothe him.

“Um,” Derek says, watching his nephew with concern. “Not yet.”

“Remind me of your choices?” Talia asks.

“Our options are Acadia, Sequoia, and Zion,” Stiles answers, listing the national parks Derek can transfer to as he pours wine into Derek’s glass.

“Those are all very nice,” she answers with careful neutrality.

“Mom,” Derek sighs, “you don’t have to pretend. I know you want us to pick Sequoia.” The park is only a few hours from Beacon Hills.

“I just want you to be happy,” Talia says. “Although Maine is extremely cold in the winter.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“And Utah isn’t always the most welcoming to same-sex couples…”

Before Derek can snark an impatient response, he feels Stiles’ hand rest on his thigh. “We promise to consider all the angles and tell you as soon as we’ve decided,” his husband tells his mother in his most charming voice. 

As always, it melts Talia, who beams at Stiles and passes him the yams.

“Does no one care that I’m about to have a human shoot out of me?” Laura demands, eyes narrowed. She grips her knife almost menacingly as she shoots glares at everyone at the table, except her son.

“Of course we care, hon,” Jordan says smoothly without looking up from where he’s wiping yams off Joshua’s chin. “It’s very important to all of us and we’re all very excited.” 

Talia chokes on a sip of water while Stiles hides his face behind his napkin. Laughing right now might cost him his testicles.

“Will you miss Yellowstone?” Jordan asks.

Stiles sighs and Derek covers his hand with his own on the tabletop. “Yes,” he says, looking at Stiles. “But it’s been three years, and we need to be somewhere where Stiles can climb.”

Although Derek and Stiles had made a valiant effort to make life work in Alaska, after a few months Derek wasn’t needed at the park and they transferred back to the mainland.

“Not that kind of climbing,” Stiles says reassuringly to Talia at the sight of her panicked expression. “I’ll mostly be coaching new climbers and leading retreats.”

Stiles hasn’t done a free climb since he and Derek got back together, and Derek’s grateful for it every day.

“Okay,” Talia says, looking relieved.

“Oh fuck,” Laura spits out, throwing down her fork.

“Jesus, Laura,” Derek says, “can the conversation not be about you for five seconds?”

Laura fixes Derek with a look that makes Stiles shiver a little bit. 

“My water just broke, you asshole.”

Amid the gasps and ensuing flurry of activity, Stiles wonders aloud if Laura always swears so much around her toddler. Jordan just looks at him and nods.

Talia springs into action and helps Laura and Jordan get out the door with her packed hospital bag. While most women have plenty of time between their water breaking and active labor, Laura’s first birth was under two hours, start to finish, and her doctor had warned her the second one would probably come even faster.

Derek hoists his nephew onto his hip and walks the couple to their car while Stiles starts clearing the table. Since Talia’s going to the hospital with Laura and Jordan, Derek and Stiles are on toddler duty until the baby is born, at which point they’ll take Joshua to meet his new sibling.

Derek and Joshua wave goodbye to the departing car until they can’t see its rear lights anymore, then head back inside Laura’s house. Although she moved out of Talia’s place when she got married, she stayed in Beacon Hills and bought a place practically next door. Cora, on the other hand, keeps flitting between European cities and only sporadically texting or calling. 

Derek’s glad for her, actually; one of them should have a normal, carefree youth.  


Stiles emerges from the kitchen to collect another stack of plates. He sees Joshua let out a head-splitting yawn and coos. 

“Is it bedtime for my little man?” Stiles scoops Joshua out of Derek’s arms and hugs him tightly, kissing the top of his brunet head. Derek feels a rush of warmth at the sight and wraps both of them in an even bigger hug.

Laughing, Stiles pushes Derek off. “Finish cleaning up, I’ll put this guy down.” He kisses Derek on the lips and heads for the stairs.

Derek can’t help humming to himself as he loads the dishwasher and piles leftover food into glass containers. He’s beyond grateful to be so fully immersed in his family’s lives again, and for Stiles. Stiles, who he can’t quite believe is his forever.

The man himself appears as Derek is re-corking the wine. He comes up from behind Derek and tucks his chin over Derek’s shoulder, snuggling into him.

“Hey,” Derek says, smiling. “He asleep?”

“Out like a light,” Stiles yawns. “I feel ready to join him.”

“Maybe we should try to sleep now. We’ll probably be getting up in a few hours to go to the hospital.”

Stiles makes a “hmmmmmmm” sound and squeezes Derek more tightly. “That is one idea.”

“I’m sorry, are you propositioning me? You, the man who swore he was going to punish me with chastity not two hours ago?”

Stiles shrugs, not letting go. “What can I say, I’m weak for you. You make me weak.” He kisses the back of Derek’s neck softly, but with intent.

Derek groans and turns around, tugging Stiles’ arms down and gripping them as he leans in for a deep kiss. He licks Stiles’ lower lip and then slides their tongues together, Stiles moaning into it and kissing back fervently.

“Nothing about you is weak,” Derek whispers as he pulls back and stares into Stiles’ eyes, which are practically all pupil right now. With swiftness and skill he undoes Stiles’ fly and yanks his boxers and pants down to his knees, all in one move.

“I still don’t know how you do that,” Stiles murmurs. He leans back against the counter and closes his eyes.

Derek drops to his knees and kisses the head of Stiles’ already very hard cock, feeling Stiles shudder. Then he licks teasing little rings around it until he goes in for a deep suck. Stiles cries out and he sucks even harder, then pulls off with a pornographic sound.

“Turn around,” he growls. Stiles complies, breathing heavily and spreading his legs as much as he can with his pants around his knees. He knows what’s coming.

“Fuck, Der,” he groans. It turns into an all-out howl when Derek’s tongue starts lapping over his hole.

“I want you to fuck me right here,” Stiles gasps, reaching back to stroke Derek’s hair. Derek growls his agreement but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. He plans to stretch this out, really savor it. He can never get enough of making love to Stiles.

But it’s hard to focus when both of their cell phones start going off at once. “Noooooo,” Stiles cries, slumping down over the counter. “Not again!”

“Oh my god,” Derek says, staring at his phone. “Laura just had the baby.”

“Wait, already?” Stiles hops over to look at Derek’s phone, pants still down. “How did they get to the hospital that fast, isn’t it almost an hour away?”

Derek watches the dots indicating his mother is typing something. When it appears, they both gasp:

_We had to pull over after 20 minutes and then it just happened_

“God, your sister is such a badass.” Stiles shakes his head reverently.

_Going to hospital now, baby girl is fine, will call you from there._

“A girl!” Stiles cries. “Yay!”

Derek smiles, his heart swelling in his chest. It just seems like every day there’s more love in his life.

“Yay indeed,” he says, kissing his husband. “Yay indeed.”


End file.
